Escalation
by the iz
Summary: Castiel is newly human and living in the bunker. Dean is just trying to be a supportive friend, but the closer he gets to the former angel, the harder it becomes to avoid what has always been simmering between them... S9 Destiel, canon up until the angels falling but branches off after that, slow burn (well, detailed and sluggish but let's call that slow burn). Multi-chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, dear readers :)  
** **This fic will be one of those slow burn sexual and romantic tension type ones and I know it's really slow moving and detailed but I just felt like writing it that way. It's mostly canon-compliant up until the angels falling, I've just erased the whole Hael and April thing and imagined that Cas had very little drama getting to the bunker after becoming human. The Gadreel storyline is still present but not quite the same, just because I always thought certain aspects of that were kinda odd anyway.  
** **I really hope you enjoy this! If you do, please leave me a review, it doesn't have to be a long one but they do mean a lot to me. Feel free to leave constructive criticism if you DON'T enjoy it too! All feedback is eagerly welcomed.**

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The nightmares start on the first night I'm in the bunker. It's not the first time I've slept as a human, but the other time was almost forty eight hours after the angels fell, when I finally succumbed to physical exhaustion in a random bus shelter. So that time was less falling asleep, more passing out.

Dean is apologetic when he finally comes to get me, late in the evening of my third day after becoming human. He only does so once I get within a few hours' drive of the bunker. He explains why, outlining the situation with Ezekiel and Sam, warning me that it has to be a secret for now. I'm wary and confused and shamefully, a little jealous that another angel has entered the lives of my human family and helped them where I no longer can. But Sam will die otherwise. Dean and I can definitely agree on that not being an option.

Kevin isn't there when we arrive at the bunker. Dean explains that he's away on a trip because he was feeling claustrophobic, and that he should be back in a few days. I can see the worry in his eyes when he talks about the troubled young prophet, but there was never much I could do for Kevin even when I was still in full power. After taking a much needed shower, very clumsily, and recounting my hitchhiking adventure to Dean and Sam (and apparently Ezekiel), I find that my eyelids are drooping. Dean squeezes my shoulder gently and smiles his fondest smile; it always gives me an odd, softening sort of feeling, which is only more intense as a human.

"Sleepy?" he asks teasingly. I nod and then frown.

"How does one go to sleep properly? Is there a night time ritual before going to bed? I'm sure there is."

Dean chuckles, green eyes amused. "I guess brushing teeth and changing clothes is the main stuff?"

Sam pipes up from across the table. "You do know how to brush your teeth, right Cas?"

I shake my head slowly and the brothers look at each other, grinning. "Aw, bless."

They take me to the bathroom, find me a spare toothbrush and show me how to squeeze out the right amount of toothpaste, use the correct angles and pressure on my teeth, and how to spit and rinse. Wiping my mouth and marveling at the tingling freshness inside it, I thank them with a smile. Dean hesitantly reaches out and wipes a smear of stray toothpaste away from my chin with a rough thumb. I feel my head growing oddly light as his eyes hold mine; that's new. I can sense that I'm blushing, which I was always able to stop at will when I had my grace. That's new. Sam sniggers at us. That's not new.

Dean seems in a hurry to leave after that, so after I've performed the unpleasant task of using the toilet, Sam shows me to a spare bedroom. I'm wearing the boxers, old jeans and thin t-shirt that one of the brothers left for me in the bathroom after my shower. The shirt must be Dean's because it has a rock band logo on it. I gaze at Sam the whole time he's speaking, trying to discern any sign of my old ally Ezekiel, but the angel inside the flesh is well hidden. I hope he's doing a good job of healing Sam.

I pull the jeans off in the stark, box-like spare room that Sam's left me in, yawning uncontrollably as I crawl underneath the sheets and switch off the bedside lamp. A dark, heavy feeling is rolling over me as I close my aching eyes. It scares me a little, but I try to relax.

The next thing I'm fully aware of is sitting upright in the bed, sweating and shaking and gasping. The fear and horror pulsing through me is overwhelming. The images still swimming through my mind are memories, my worst memories, of all the times I've killed my own brethren, all the pain I've caused. But mixed in are visions which I know aren't real. The most vivid one of these is Dean, mangled and dead in my arms, his soul swallowed up again by Hell with me powerless to go and save it.

I scramble out of bed, not sure what I'm doing but feeling what must be panic. My body is weak and trembling and I'm cold, yet sweaty. This can't be how sleep is for all humans, a parade of nightmarish images and emotions...

I freeze. Of course, a nightmare. A bad dream. I've heard of them, but I never realised how torturous they were. How do humans sleep if they get nightmares? All the dark, crippling things in my mind have just attacked me at once and as I'm rapidly realising, being human comes with a much looser grip on my reactions. I feel tears choking me, blinding me as I stumble towards the door, barely able to drag in a breath before I yank it open and stagger up the hallway. Logically, I know that the bedroom is not the source of the terror, but logic doesn't seem to reach me as well now that my grace is gone. I come to halt after turning the corner and I slump against a door, hitting it more heavily than I meant to.

Leaning against the solid surface, I take deep breaths and unsteadily wipe the tears away from my face, swallowing. I'm just starting to feel like I'm definitely calming down when the door opens abruptly and I yell with shock as I fall through it, flailing wildly.

Strong arms catch me and I'm left hanging limply from them, eyes squeezed shut and heart hammering loudly in my ears. I never allowed it to beat this fast as an angel and it feels like it might stop at any moment. I'm suddenly hit with how fragile and breakable and vulnerable I am and I gasp out a sob, fresh tears stinging my eyes. What is happening? Is this the normal human experience? It's ridiculous.

"Cas?" Dean's familiar voice makes my eyes snap open and I scramble upright, grabbing handfuls of his shirt as I twist to face him. His eyes glow with the faintest green imaginable in the dim lighting from his bedside lamp and he's staring at me with shock and suspicion. I yank him closer until we're almost nose to nose. I'm not sure why; I'm just intensely glad to see him and I'm not currently able to control the old, deep-seated need to be physically near him. Dean is everything that's good in my life, and he knows how to be human. He'll help me.

His eyes are wide open and I hear his breath catch. His hands are still on my elbows, fingers digging in. He swallows, gaze fixed on mine, and leans back a few inches.

"What's going on?" he asks urgently. I sniff and slowly release one hand from his shirt, knowing that I've left the thin cotton damp with sweat. It's not even a warm night. Why would I be sweating? Nothing about my reaction to my nightmare is making much sense to me. Smearing my tears across my cheekbone with the heel of my palm, I take a deep breath, staring down at Dean's broad chest.

"I had a nightmare," I mumble, my voice thick and shaky. I glance back up at Dean and uncurl my other fist from his shirt, wiping it hastily on my own and then repeating my attempt to dash away my tears. He's staring at me with his mouth slightly open, his expression torn between disbelief and concern. Finally, his shoulders relax and he looks me up and down.

"You had a nightmare?" he repeats. I nod miserably. I'm starting to think more clearly and I can see that I've overreacted. Nightmares must be a fairly typical part of sleeping. I mutter an apology, feeling humiliated, and I try to step back but Dean's grip on my upper arms stops me. He speaks sadly, eyes full of sympathy.

"No, Cas, it's OK. Nightmares suck. If you've never had one before... Well, with the shit you've been through, it must have been bad."

The worst image hits me again, Dean lost and suffering beyond my reach, and I feel myself crumple, unable to hold back the damnable tears. How do the Winchesters keep such tight reins on their emotions? I feel like I have no control whatsoever. I choke in surprise as Dean abruptly pulls me into a hug, one arm tight around my upper back and the other hand warm on the back of my head. He whispers my name into my hair and rocks me gently and I screw up my face into his shoulder, throwing my arms around his waist, feeling his torso firm and reassuring against mine. We stand like that for what feels like a long time, but when he pulls away it's too soon.

"You're a mess," Dean informs me with a little smile, but I actually feel much better. I don't know what my facial expression is as I stare at him, but he clears his throat and looks away, dropping his hands from my elbows.

"Thank you," I murmur, only realising after I say it that it sounds like I'm thanking him for calling me a mess; I meant to thank him for the comfort. I take a shuddering breath and wrap my arms around myself, blinking away the stray tears left on my eyelashes. My mouth tastes of salt, my eyes feel sticky and achy and the cold air is making me shiver without Dean's arms around me. He's gazing at me with clear concern and I stare back, waiting for him to dismiss me as always. The thought upsets me more than usual but I can't seem to remember how to mask the sadness in my eyes. It used to be so easy.

"I've never seen you like this, man," he finally says, rubbing nervous hands on his boxer-clad thighs. "Not even close. Never even seen you cry. Being human is pretty rough for you, huh?"

I shrug wearily. "I'm just having control issues. I used to be able to keep it all locked up. Now that I'm human, it's like I'm ruled by everything I feel. I'm sorry, Dean, you're right... I'm a mess."

My voice is hoarse and to my deep annoyance, I feel even more tears gather. I dash them away angrily, sighing loudly, then run a hand through my hair. The tugging on my scalp feels good and clears my mind a little, so I do it again with both hands, shutting my eyes and drawing in a steady breath through my mouth. When I drop my hands and open my eyes I feel a little calmer, but Dean is staring at me with a blank, distracted look on his face. I tilt my head at him, concerned.

"Dean, are you alright?"

He blinks and clears his throat again. "Yeah. Yeah. So, you OK to go back to bed now?"

The fear creeps up again before I can brace myself and I twist my fingers together as I glance back up the hallway towards my bedroom. I don't want to go back. I want to stay here. Dean makes me feel better than anything else. I look back up at him, eyes pleading, and he begins to shake his head, stepping back.

"Oh, no, Cas..."

"Please," I interrupt him, unable to stop myself. It's shameful that I'm begging but Dean has been reducing me to this since we met, it's just never been so obvious before. He frowns at me, looking pained, then sighs and nods shortly, turning on his heel and stalking towards his bed. Sagging with relief, I close the door behind me and almost jog to the other side of the bed, sliding under the covers just as he does. I feel much more selfish as a human, probably because I'm much more vulnerable, so I break one of Dean's sacred rules without a second thought.

Screw personal space.

As soon as he lies back against the pillow, I scoot over until my entire side is pressed against his and I'm bathed in his warmth and his familiar-yet-new scent. He tenses and mutters a protest but I ignore him. It's not like we're cuddling, I have enough control to stop myself from being that needy. Folding my hands across my stomach, I close my eyes and relax my tired muscles, breathing deeply and evenly. After several minutes, the body next to me does the same.

I smile freely in the dark, my wayward emotions swinging dizzily from fear and panic into utter contentment. This is where I want to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**As you'll see from this chapter, I've kind of brought Cas more into the loop regarding 'Ezekiel' and chilled Gadreel out a tad. Enjoy!**

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I fall asleep so easily that I almost feel like no time has passed when I open my eyes again. However, despite the lack of daylight to show me that it's hours later, I'm immediately aware that I've been asleep because I've somehow moved, with no memory of doing so.

Instead of lying neatly on my back, I'm sprawled on my stomach, face pressed against the outside of a warm, cotton-clad shoulder. I have one arm wedged under my pillow and the other draped heavily across the abdomen of the body attached to said shoulder.

Blinking blearily and pulling my head back, I see that Dean is still on his back, head lolling away from me and resting on the arm that's raised and folded behind it. His other arm is trapped beneath my stomach, fingers curled around my hip, wrist pressed dangerously close to an area which is already presenting troubling behaviour. I shift and bite back a moan as my semi-erection rubs against the mattress. Is this part of sleep too? Or is this part of being close to Dean for a prolonged period of time? I scowl to myself. Bad enough that my emotions are defying my control, but if I can no longer ignore and suppress my physical attraction to Dean then I really am in trouble. I concentrate hard, but my ability to banish an erection appears to have been yet another useful perk of my grace.

Sighing, I decide to wait for a while and see if it goes away by itself. I'm aware of what can be done to solve the problem, but I'm also fairly certain that it's considered rude to masturbate in the presence of another human. I close my eyes and the idle thought of touching that part of me in Dean's bed, next to Dean himself, sends shivers of heat across my skin. My eyes flash open in shocked dismay; the problem just got abruptly worse. I swear in an annoyed half-whisper and then freeze as Dean twitches awake with a throaty noise and a small stretching movement. The stretch drags his arm against sensitive, engorged flesh through the thin layer of my boxers and I smash my face into the mattress to swear again, before sliding clumsily down and away from Dean. When I look up again, he's staring at me with sleepy surprise in his verdant eyes.

"Shit, Cas, I forgot you were here," he says simply, voice deep and thick. His hand freed from beneath me, he stretches both arms above his head, the sheets slipping down to pool at his waist. I eye his t shirt-clad torso and flexed biceps distractedly, shifting uncomfortably. It's definitely not going away. I miss my grace so much. At least he didn't appear to notice that he touched my erection, however briefly. I fold my arms beneath my cheek and frown at him from the far side of the bed, watching as he settles with his arms still resting above his head. He gazes at me, his expression slightly wary. I stare back and think grumpily, not for the first time ever, that he's really beautiful immediately after waking. This doesn't please me. I need him to stop being appealing, just for five minutes, so that my overly excitable human body can sort itself out.

"You were swearing," he finally says quietly. He smirks and looks up at the ceiling. "You hardly ever swear."

I shrug carefully and my voice comes out tense and throaty. "Maybe it's a human thing."

He continues to stare upwards, looking thoughtful. "So human you is emotionally unstable, clingy, and grumpy in the mornings. Good to know."

My frown deepens, but my annoyed mood is finally wearing my physical predicament down, to my relief. "I make a pretty awful human, then."

Dean glances at me, contrition flickering across his stubbled face. "Sorry, Cas. That's not what I meant, you're fine. You're adjusting, that's all."

I smile slightly, shifting my head on my arms, and his answering smile turns to a slight grin as he gazes at me with disarming affection. His soft eyes move across my face and linger on my messy hair. He opens his mouth to say something and then shuts it again, cheeks flushing as he turns away and sits up. My eyes follow him as he swings his legs out and stands, his back to me. I suddenly realise that I'm no longer hard at all and I blow out a breath in relief, my whole body relaxing.

Now that my inconvenient human physiology is no longer bothering me, I feel weirdly happy as I watch Dean wander across the room and pull his robe on, belting it securely. Stretching my arms above my head and pressing my face into the bed, I inhale Dean's smell - different now that I'm human, yet somehow the same - and grin, closing my eyes again. I hear Dean clear his throat.

"You getting up?"

"Yes," I mumble, turning my head just enough to make the words audible. "I just really enjoy being in your bed."

There's a short silence before Dean replies, voice cracking oddly. "For fuck's sake, Cas. Still no trouble saying weird shit, then."

I roll over and sit up, cocking my head in confusion. "What's weird?"

"You, Cas, always," he says wryly, shaking his head, but his eyes are warm on me. "OK, well once you feel up to it, come grab breakfast. And, um, don't mention to Sam that you slept in here, yeah?"

I'm already clambering out of bed; my stomach is growling at the mention of food. I'm sort of impressed by how efficiently it responds to any kind of stimulus, even if it's not always the way I want it to. I squint at Dean, puzzled by his request.

"Why, Dean?"

He dithers on the spot, face tense. "Just don't. He'll be weird about it."

"I was upset and you helped me. I'm very grateful, by the way. That's not weird."

"Cas!" Dean explodes, glaring, green eyes acidic. "Just fucking don't say anything, alright?"

I wrinkle my nose but nod unhappily. "Fine. I don't like lying to Sam though, especially when we're already lying about Ezekiel."

Dean looks pained at that, but he shrugs jerkily. "Lying is an important part of being human."

I roll my eyes and walk past him, opening the door wide to step into the hallway. I immediately freeze. Sam is walking past, stretching linked fingers behind his back, but he stops short at the sight of me. His eyes and mouth widen comically and my stomach feels suddenly heavy and tight. I slowly turn around to stare at Dean, who's gone pale and looks as though he's feeling nauseous.

"Sorry," I say weakly.

Dean shuts his eyes as Sam gives a snort of laughter. I turn back to face him and he's grinning widely, hazel eyes sparkling.

"What's this?"

"Not what it looks like," Dean snaps from behind me. "Cas was just... He had a nightmare, OK? That's it."

"I was very upset," I confirm, nodding. "If the implication here is that Dean and I had sexual intercourse, I'm afraid that's not the case, Sam."

Sam's eyebrows shoot upwards and I hear Dean make an odd spluttering, protesting noise. I whip around, concerned that he might be choking somehow. He's staring at me with a furiously red face, eyes wide and mouth screwed up. It's hard to tell what emotion he's trying to express, but he doesn't seem able to vocalise it, so I shrug and walk past a quietly laughing Sam.

"I would appreciate assistance in making food, please," I call back over my shoulder.

Dean sits in silence at the kitchen table with a coffee while Sam shows me how to use the kettle, the toaster and how much milk to add to cereal. He promises that we'll do a cooked breakfast tomorrow, but I'm already quite fascinated by the spread of food in front of me. I carry my bowl and plate over to the table and sit opposite Dean, thanking Sam as he deposits a coffee in front of me. Dean's eyes dart towards me and he shifts awkwardly in his seat. I smile serenely and hold his gaze as I take a sip of my coffee, only to splutter and scowl at the bad taste. He breaks out into a grin.

"Sugar?" he asks. I frown in confusion and he gets up from the table, grabbing a ceramic jar from the counter. He opens it and shows me the white crystals inside.

"I know what sugar is, Dean," I say a little impatiently. "Why would I put it into this drink?"

He sits back down, frowning at me. "Cas, didn't you eat anything on the way here?"

I think back. I certainly didn't eat anything for the first day, when I was wandering up the side of a deserted highway, but once I got a ride... "The driver of the truck I got a ride on bought me a bottle of water and a packet of potato chips. They said 'salty' on the packaging so I guess that is what salt tastes like. I'm not sure I liked it much, it was very overpowering. It stung my lips. I enjoyed the water very much though."

Dean looks curious. "And you seriously couldn't taste anything when you had your mojo?"

"Of course I could. I could taste each individual molecule which made up the flavours in food. It was very interesting. That's not tasting in the way that humans experience it, though."

Dean nods slowly and then holds out the sugar again. "Try a little bit, just a pinch."

He's watching me closely as I reach into the jar and bring out a pinch of the hard granules. Cautiously, eyes closed, I open my mouth and slowly draw my tongue between my finger and thumb. A surprised noise escapes me and my eyes flutter open. "Oh, I like that much more."

Dean is smiling faintly, eyes never leaving my face. He murmurs softly: "You have a sweet tooth."

I frown in confusion, pressing my tongue against the roof of my mouth to try to capture more of the pleasant flavour, then running it cursorily around my teeth. "None of my teeth taste like sugar."

Dean chuckles warmly. "Nah, it's an expression, means you like sweet flavours."

I smile in understanding and we stare at each other for a moment before Sam's amused voice breaks the silence. "Well, I'm glad we established that. You going to add some sugar to your coffee, Cas?"

I look at Sam, nodding slowly. "How much?"

But Dean is already spooning sugar into my drink and stirring it around, cheeks slightly pink as he shoots an annoyed glance at his brother. I grin my thanks and take another sip, eyes widening in approval. "That's much better. It doesn't taste so..."

I struggle for the word and Dean pipes up helpfully. "Bitter?"

I shrug. "Probably."

I try the toast with peanut butter, and even though I can taste that saltiness again it's much softer and warmer this time. I pronounce it pleasant and then try the cornflakes with milk. I dislike the damp texture and mild flavour immediately and Dean shrugs, spooning sugar onto them before pulling them towards him and eating them himself. Sam kindly makes me more toast, adding fruit jelly on top of the peanut butter this time, and the flavour is what I imagine humans are referring to when they say 'delicious'. Both brothers are chuckling at my delighted expression when Sam suddenly stiffens in his chair, eyes glowing blue-white.

"Dean," he says, voice flat and low. He turns to me, eyes that familar grey-brown again but not at all Sam. "Castiel."

"Ezekiel," says Dean in surprise, and I narrow my eyes in confusion, setting down my toast. I don't recognise this as the angel I know. But then I remember that I'm human now, I can't see true forms or souls, and I haven't spent time with Ezekiel in years anyway. Dean is asking what the angel wants and I focus on his response.

"I want to let you know that Sam is making progress," Sam's voice and face tell us politely, coolly. "I am healing him slowly but thoroughly. He's on track to becoming healthy again."

"Good," says Dean, relief clear in his voice. "That's great, thank you."

Ezekiel inclines his head and then turns his borrowed gaze onto me, frowning slightly. "Castiel. I understand you are staying here indefinitely?"

I'm slightly stung by his lack of greeting but I nod anyway. "Yes. It's good to see you, brother. Thank you for saving Sam."

He nods dismissively. "I am concerned by your presence here, brother. You have many enemies. Surely you endanger us all."

I frown deeply, but Dean cuts across me before I can reply, his tone sharp. "What are you getting at? You want him to go?"

My stomach twists as Ezekiel tilts his head at Dean. "Yes, I think that would be wise."

"Well, he's not going anywhere," Dean says fiercely, and I'm glad he doesn't look at me, because I've never done a worse job of keeping my love for him off of my face. "This place is warded to the hilt. Besides, most angels probably think Cas is dead."

"That won't last for long."

"Well, like I said, you're safe here. Cas stays, that's non-negotiable."

Ezekiel scowls and it looks remarkably like Sam's trademark 'bitch face', as Dean calls it. My heart is beating hard as he turns the face onto me. "You are content to endanger us by staying?"

The question tears at me and I look away, hating that he's right. I've gone from being Sam and Dean's greatest protector to presenting a possibly fatal weakness for them. I raise my gaze to Dean and speak reluctantly. "Maybe I should go."

His eyes blaze green fire at me and his tone is final when he speaks. "Hell, no. You're safer here, we're safer here, and Ezekiel is safer here. You are staying."

I smile gratefully at him and I manage to stop the tears from falling this time, although they're still there, unwanted and embarrassing. Ezekiel sighs from beside me.

"Very well. But if there is a hint of danger here, if I think for a moment that his presence has attracted trouble to us, I will leave. And Sam will die."

Dean swallows and for a moment, he looks unsure. But then he glances back at me and his face sets. "OK, but you won't have to. We won't be attacked here. No one can find the bunker."

Ezekiel looks unhappy and annoyed, but nods sharply once. Abruptly, his face melts into a handsome laugh, and Sam is back in those warm multi-coloured eyes. I slump with relief, feeling light-headed. Sam's chuckle dies as he looks between us, at our tense faces and clenched fists. His face falls into confusion; from his perspective, we've gone from happy smiles to shuttered frowns in the blink of an eye. "Whoa, what's wrong, guys?"

Dean forces a grin. "Nothing, Sammy. Uh, PB&J really is magical, huh Cas?"

I look down at my forgotten toast and slowly raise it to my mouth, taking a bite. I nod solemnly and Sam snorts, getting up from the table to go rinse out his mug. Dean and I stare at each other in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry, I waited a bit to upload, been busy.  
** **Who's seen 11x18? Wow. Just wow. In Destiel heaven right now. I'm still very cynical about it becoming canon but I want to hope soooo badly. If they weren't both male-presenting then 'Hell's Angel' would have been universally accepted as full of romantic tension but nooooo. Anyway, I'm bitter and I lack faith in the writers and maybe I'll be proven wrong and we'll get the conclusion to this love story that we deserve.  
** **This chapter is a tad cliched with the whole shaving thing but whatever, I had fun writing it so I hope you have fun reading it too :)**

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The rest of the day ends up being very enjoyable and it's easy to forget that Ezekiel is there with the three of us. After breakfast I go to brush my teeth and Dean walks in on me as I'm leaning close to the mirror, examining my stubble with a frown. It's fast developing into a beard, and I don't want a beard.

I grew a beard in Purgatory because my grace worked differently there, as though it was a battery rather than a constant power source. Every use of it sapped my strength for a short while and I wanted to conserve it. So I consciously withdrew it from all the things it usually maintained and fixed automatically, such as keeping my skin clean and my clothes repaired, and stopping my hair from growing. Purgatory didn't seem to follow the same rules of life as the mortal world. Even without my grace, my sweat didn't go sour and my teeth didn't build up plaque. My companions were similarly unaffected. As well as this, Dean found that he felt neither thirst nor hunger, and Benny had no need of blood to sustain him. It was an odd place and I found the beard to be an odd experience. I was quite glad to get rid of it once my grace was back to normal.

Now, peering at the scrobiculate beginnings of another beard on my jawline, I'm annoyed at the prospect. Dean steps up beside me and smiles. "Do you know how to shave?"

I turn to him and shake my head. I know that Dean is lucky and his facial hair grows slowly; he told me as much in Purgatory, when I watched him carefully scraping a small knife across his wet face every few days. He hardly ever cut himself, but he told me that it was due to a sharp blade and lots of practice. He said he'd never once had a beard or moustache in his life, and he never wanted to.

Looking at him, I can see that he has a little bit of stubble, but not as much as me. It actually looks very pleasing on him. I compare my own face in the mirror. The rough layer of stubble is thicker and darker than his, but it's not aesthetically displeasing either. In fact, for the first time ever, I can appreciate that I'm not a bad looking man. Now that it's my own human body rather than just a vessel, that seems to matter more. My dark hair is artfully mussed and soft-looking, the almost black colour providing a sharp contrast to eyes as startling blue as Dean's are green. Really, the stubble looks damn good on me. In a few days it will be actual hair, though. I scrape at it with my fingers and Dean laughs softly.

"Yeah, you look better without the beard for sure. I'll help you out."

I nod gratefully. Dean directs me to wash my face clean, watching me splash water onto my skin with an amused expression. I add soap and scrub thoroughly before rinsing and then toweling my face dry.

"Gotta have a clean face for shaving," he informs me. I nod seriously.

He grabs a damp washcloth hanging by the sink and runs the hot tap, soaking the cloth with hot water and then laying it aside. He half-fills the basin with cold water, then takes a small bottle and shakes some sort of golden substance onto my fingers.

"Shaving oil," he tells me, motioning for me to pat it lightly onto my jaw. "Softens the skin."

I hesitantly brush my fingers across my cheeks and chin and he bites his lip, clearly struggling with himself. Sighing, he avoids my eyes as he puts shaving oil onto his own fingers and rubs it into my skin using quick, firm movements. I close my eyes and hum in surprised enjoyment. His fingers are a little rough but the oil quickly makes them soft. It smells faintly pleasant and it feels irrationally good to have him touch me. He takes his hands away too quickly and my eyes flutter open, watching him busy himself at the sink with his stubbled cheeks flushed.

He takes the hot washcloth from the counter and presses it to my face. When he speaks his voice is light and warm. "Need to heat the skin, opens the pores. You keeping up?"

I nod into the pleasant warmth of the damp cloth, happy to have an excuse to let my eyes wander over the details of his face. I don't think he noticed my shocked expression or my intense staring when he picked me up from that bus shelter, and I don't think he's realised that I can see him properly for the first time. More than likely, he never actually knew that I was only ever seeing him through the glow of his soul when I was an angel. It's not like I couldn't see his physical form, it was just overshadowed by something more beautiful and more familiar to me.

But now, as a human, all I can see is another human. When I viewed him for the first time this way, I was slightly bewildered to be looking at the physical shell of this man I loved, without the nuances and fluctuations of his soul enriching his appearance. It was a good hour before I stopped staring at his profile in the car. I eventually decided that it was actually nice to be able to see his face and body clearly, since it was really a very pleasing sight. Now, looking at the expressions flickering across his eyes, I almost feel like I can still see his soul after all.

He glances at me and I blink, realising that my gaze was probably getting a little heavy. My voice is muffled when I speak. "It's quite an involved process."

Dean continues to pat at my face with the cloth. He shrugs, eyes sparkling. "Beauty comes at a price, my friend. You have to put the work in to look this good."

I nod solemnly again and Dean snorts as he lays the cloth down. He proceeds to pick up a small dish and squirts white foam into it from a metal container. Grabbing a neat little brush, he rubs the foam into a lather in the bowl. Offering me the brush, he explains that I need to cover all of the stubble with the foam and rub it in thoroughly using circular motions. I do so, peering into the mirror. When I've covered my whole lower face and neck in the smooth white substance, he grins at me in the mirror.

"Once you look like Santa, it's time to actually shave. It's important to be careful and shave with the grain as much as possible, so you don't cut yourself, yeah?"

"Yes, I understand."

Dean talks me through it as I firmly drag the razor across my skin, taking away strips of lather and revealing smooth, clean flesh beneath it. He instructs me to rinse the implement in the sink regularly. All is going well until I'm attending to the jut of bone beneath my ear. I go for the wrong angle and the blade catches; I wince sharply and swear under my breath as a bead of blood wells up. I twist my mouth apologetically.

"Sorry, Dean."

"No, don't apologise..." He trails off and, without seeming to realise what he's doing, he steps close and gently swipes the blood away with his thumb. I turn my head and meet his eyes and there's the usual thick silence for a few seconds. I'm so used to it now; it's become an almost comfortable part of my relationship with Dean. He's nearly always the first to look away, fumbling and clearing his throat.

But this time, it seems to hit me differently. Instead of remaining calm, I quickly feel flustered and confused by the physical proximity and the sharp scent of the shaving foam and after about two seconds, the intensity of the eye contact is starting to feel unbearable. But I can't seem to remember how to tear my gaze away. The green of Dean's eyes is making me dizzy and I'm holding my breath. My skin is prickling unpleasantly and I feel overheated. It's bizarre. With a huge effort and an immediate sense of relief, I wrench my eyes down to the counter top and stare blankly, inhaling with a rush. Is this how Dean feels when we have those little moments? No wonder they make him so uncomfortable. Suddenly, his personal space rule makes more sense to me.

Dean steps back and clears his throat, a familiar sound, and it makes me smile a little. I take a deep breath and resume shaving. There's silence for a little while until I get to my upper lip and he explains that it's best to pull the skin tight and flat because it's easier to cut oneself on the moustache area. I murmur agreement, doing as he says, and then move across to the other side of my face. He then directs me to shave my neck using long, broad strokes, being very careful on the sharp edge of my jawbone.

I wash the razor off once more and he empties the sink and then runs the tap warm, telling me to rinse my face thoroughly before patting it dry with the towel. He tells me to check for any patches I've missed, running his fingers softly across his own face to demonstrate. I do so but I wish I was touching his skin instead. It takes much more effort than it used to, stopping myself from touching Dean. I force myself to focus as he points out a spot near my pulse point which still has some practically invisible stubble and I tilt my head as he spreads some more shaving cream onto the spot and meticulously shaves it bare. I hope that he can't feel how my pulse is jumping erratically from the attention.

"You enjoy shaving," I observe as he uses the damp washcloth to wipe the last of the lather off my neck. He grins at me as he grabs a different bottle from the counter top and unscrews the cap. A familiar smell wafts towards me; my sense of smell as an angel was clearly more similar to a human's, unlike my sense of taste. The scent is altered, stronger and smoother and less detailed, but unmistakable.

"That smells like you," I tell him, smiling at the bottle. His grins turns oddly shy and he chuckles a little, cocking his head.

"You recognise my aftershave?"

"Is that what it is?" I reach out and take the bottle, inhaling. "You don't always smell like this, but you do quite regularly."

Dean shrugs, his ears pink, but he looks pleased. "Well, I'd smell like that on the days I've shaved, I guess. I don't shave every morning. But you're right, yeah, I like to shave. It's kind of a ritual, I like going through all the steps."

He pours a little of the aftershave onto my fingers and tells me to apply it like the oil. I rub it into my skin using little circular motions, closing my eyes to enjoy the scent and the feel. I jump and open them again as Dean dabs at my cut with the corner of the washcloth, rubbing the now-dried blood off. "Only one cut! Nice job."

He grins at me and holds up his hand for a hi-five, which I grant him with raised brows and a smirk. I suddenly remember that I have a mirror to check my reflection, and I do so, mildly pleased to see my familiar clean-shaven face there. As an angel I never saw my own grace in the mirror because mirrors generally only reflect the physical world. The face of Jimmy Novak was the only face I ever really saw as just a face, although I didn't look into mirrors very often. Next to me, Dean is humming lightly as he cleans the razor, brush and bowl. I watch him fondly, absently rubbing the newly soft skin on my cheek. He shakes the equipment and then lays it out to dry on the counter, looking up and catching my eye. His gaze travels over the Metallica t shirt I'm wearing and he tilts his head.

"Not that I mind you borrowing my shirt," he says with a smile. "But we should probably go buy you some new clothes."


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi, another chapter! I really enjoyed writing this one. Fair warning, I'm a bit of a wistful Sam/Jess fan and it shows in this chapter for sure! I hope you guys are on board with that. If not then... oops.  
** **Aerosmith are awesome and I've managed to turn 'Don't wanna miss a thing' into an emotional destiel anthem in my own head through writing this, even though the focus of that song in this fic isn't even destiel... also oops.  
And yeah I did go for a vaguely biflag shirt with Dean... not even gonna 'oops' that, that was entirely deliberate.  
** **Anyway, enjoy! And please review! Big thank you to my reviewers so far :D**

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The shopping mall is an interesting place. It's not a very big mall, but it seems to have a wide range of human interests covered in a small area. Sam is chattering about seeing if they've got some decent seasonal fruits in store and Dean is teasing him about being a 'health freak'. I watch them as we walk across the parking lot, enjoying the relaxing familiarity of their argument. I don't even realise that I'm smiling until Dean catches my eye and grins at me, looking as happy as he's ever looked. I'm smiling far more since I became human, and he's doing the same.

Our first stop is a clothes store, where Sam and Dean spend minutes at a time arguing over different colours and types of plaid shirts. They pick out plain t-shirts in white, black, blue and grey as they debate this and I watch them with interest, hugging the growing collection of shirts to my chest. Finally they agree to pick one plaid top each - with Sam choosing a red and black and Dean settling on a blue and purple - and they instruct me to pick one for myself. I cast my eyes over the rails until one in various shades of green catches my eye. Dean frowns at it as though he doesn't approve.

"Green is my favourite colour. It's like your eyes," I explain to him and he immediately blushes, while Sam smirks behind him.

"Dude, that's fuckin' gay," Dean remarks, but waves his hand airily when I go to put the shirt back. "Nah, it's actually not that bad though, keep it."

Sam grabs two pairs of dark blue jeans that look similar to the ones the two brothers always wear. Taking them over to the fitting rooms, he drapes one pair over a chair outside the curtain and gestures for me to dump the various shirts on top. Pulling out a blue t shirt and the blue and purple button-up that Dean picked, he hands them to me with the second pair of jeans.

"You don't need to try all of it on, just try these on to make sure we got it right," he instructs. I nod happily. I'm wearing the same shirt and jeans from last night. Taking my new outfit into the fitting room and pulling the curtain shut behind me, I strip down to my boxers and idly examine the flat planes of my vessel; no, my body. It's quite attractive, to my untrained eyes. I wonder what Dean's nude body looks like through human eyes as I lift one foot and start dragging the jeans on. The thought is unexpectedly distracting and I yelp as my balance fails, toppling me into the wall with a loud crashing noise.

"Cas?" Dean's worried voice is immediately at the curtain and I feel an absurd rush of horror at the thought of him opening it and seeing me slumped on the floor, legs tangled up in denim. I hurriedly assure him that I'm fine and I pull the jeans on properly before donning the two shirts, leaving the plaid one open. I cock my head at my reflection. I look like a Winchester. Grinning at the thought, I pull open the curtain and step out, coming almost nose to nose with Dean.

He steps back quickly and opens his mouth to speak but then looks me up and down, his lips remaining parted and silent. I spread my hands and look down at myself before smiling back up at him for approval, remembering when I made the same gesture after returning from Purgatory. He's wearing the exact same odd facial expression, surprised and slightly dazed with flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

"Better?" I say softly, although he probably doesn't even recognise that I'm quoting myself. He shuts his mouth and runs his green eyes over me one more time, lingering on the snug t shirt. Then he meets my gaze and gives an almost shy smile.

"Yeah," he says huskily. "Better. You, uh, look really good."

Sam appears at that moment, holding a bunch of underwear and socks. He briefly scans my outfit and nods with a grin.

"Looks like it all fits! You wanna wear it straightaway? They'll probably let you."

The shop assistant who serves us seems happy to cut the tags off on the spot and we leave after Sam pays on what I know to be a false card. It's quite immoral but I'm not in a position to preach. I thank him quietly and he shrugs with a smile. I'm trying to get used to the slightly stiff texture of the new jeans. I notice the pockets and slide my hands in experimentally before fiddling with the buttons on the sleeves of my shirt. Undoing them as we make our way through the sparse crowd in the mall, I roll them up my arms as I've seen Dean do; I always liked the way it looked on him. I glance up and Dean is watching me, but he quickly looks away.

As we weave through the steady traffic of people doing their shopping, Dean announces that he has to go buy some new motor oil for the Impala. Sam makes a scoffing noise.

"Boring," he says lightly. "Cas and I will do the food shopping while you geek out over car stuff, yeah?"

Dean dithers as we reach an intersection in the mall and Sam goes to tug me away from him. He stares at me, biting his lip. I look between the brothers and Sam raises his eyebrows at Dean, laughter in his eyes. They look more bluish grey than hazel today. I've never noticed before that they change.

"Dean, what's the problem?" Sam asks, his voice light and amused. Dean shrugs and steps back, dropping his gaze.

"No problem. Meet you guys at the grocery store."

With that, he turns and strides off, sidestepping two rather large women pushing a stroller. Sam snorts, shaking his shaggy head, and guides me by the elbow towards a large food store.

"Dean is so screwed," he mutters. I stiffen as we walk into the store and Sam pulls a trolley out of a storage bay.

"How so? Is Dean in danger?"

Sam grins at me, eyes crinkling merrily. "Nah, Cas. He's fine. I just think that he's going to have to come to terms with some truths about himself if he wants this to work."

I'm confused and I open my mouth to ask what 'this' is, but Sam carries on talking before I can do so. He's explaining the different vegetables and fruits to me and it's interesting and useful information, so I give him my full attention. We pick up carrots, zucchini, watermelon and bananas. We then move on to the canned food aisle where Sam teaches me about all the 'easy' foods, disapproval in his voice, although he still selects some beans and some pasta sauce. We've barely started on the dairy section when Dean shows up, swinging a shopping bag from his hand and scowling at the fresh food in the trolley.

"Goddamn rabbit food," he mutters. I smile at his expression and Sam rolls his eyes, continuing with his explanation of differing cheese varieties. Dean goes away and comes back with four steaks and a large pack of beef mince, nodding decisively. He then puts chocolate milk into the trolley and a tub of 'neopolitan' ice cream, then drops in a packet of candy labelled with 'Reese's Pieces' as we're nearing the checkout. Sam frowns as Dean dithers before grabbing a pack of 'Twizzlers' too.

"Dean, that's too much sweet stuff..."

I perk up at the word 'sweet'; that was the flavour I liked, from sugar. I look at Dean's additions to the trolley with renewed interest and Sam shuts his mouth, smirking at me. He turns to Dean, who's avoiding my eyes.

"Oh," is all Sam says before pushing the trolley into place at the checkout. Dean continues to determinedly not look at me as he packs the food into bags and passes one to me before hoisting the other into his own arms. It's heavy but I'm stronger than I initially thought upon falling from Heaven. At first, I felt impossibly weak and helpless, used to my angelic abilities giving me strength far greater than any human. Sam pays and we head towards the parking lot, but Dean lingers as we're about to leave the building.

"You guys go ahead," he mumbles, passing the grocery bag to me and the keys to Sam. I heft it into my arms with the other one, still not finding them too difficult to carry although my shoulders ache in a foreign way. Sam looks puzzled but shrugs, leading me to the car. We load the bags into the trunk and then climb into the car; Sam politely insists that I ride shotgun. Dean has been gone for a few minutes when Sam stretches forward to turn on the radio. Two people seem to be having an animated conversation but barely thirty seconds go by before they announce that they're about to play a song. Sam chuckles in the backseat as the opening music starts up, filling the car with the smooth, grand sound of string instruments.

"Good old Aerosmith" he grins at me as I twist around to face him. I cock my head quizzically and he explains further. "This is Dean's kinda music, you've probably heard him play this sorta stuff before."

I listen to the song, trying to hear how it's similar to the other music I've heard Dean play. It sounds too slow right now, but then a strong, throaty voice cuts in and I listen to the words with interest:

 _I could stay awake_

 _Just to hear you breathin'_

 _Watch you smile while you are sleepin'_

 _While you're far away, dreamin'_

I tilt my head and remark that the singer appears to dislike pronouncing the letter 'g' on the ends of words. Sam snorts in reply and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. The lyrics so far are a little too relatable for me; I've watched Dean sleep many, many times.

"I kissed Jess for the first time listening to this song," Sam suddenly says, voice quiet and face wistful. He glances at me and then looks away. I've heard of Jess, and I'm aware that she was Sam's romantic partner whose death spurred him to reunite with Dean in the 'family business'. I wonder if he's still in love with her. I used to spend long, lonely hours thinking about how it would feel to love Dean after his death, how painful and horrible and empty it would be. Despite the downfalls of being human, part of me is almost glad that I'm mortal now. Living without Dean may not end up being a problem after all. I clear my throat, knowing that I should respond to Sam's words.

"Is it customary to listen to music whilst initiating close physical contact with a potential partner?"

Sam relaxes and grins at me. "Not necessary, but yeah, I guess it's a nice touch. That's why we have so many love songs, I suppose. Anything to help people get laid, huh?"

I cock my head again, thinking. "So in order to maximise the chances of sexual contact with a person, it's best to play a love song in the background?"

Sam nods. "Yep. Helps if it's a song you already know is special to them. I took Jess out for a drink at the campus bar to make my move. They had a jukebox there and I knew that this was her favourite song at the time. So I went and put it on. She smiled so big and we were kissing by the end of the song..."

Sam has closed his eyes in memory and the smile on his lips is faint and sad. I feel my chest tighten in pain, surprising me. Strengthened empathy must be a human thing. I watch with furrowed brows as he starts to mouth along to the words of the song:

 _I still miss you, baby_

 _And I don't wanna miss a thing..._

The trunk opens and we both jump. Dean is putting something in there; a moment later, he slams it shut and strides around to the driver's door, sliding in with a standard greeting. He looks at the radio and grins, pleased.

"Hell yeah, bit of Aerosmith!" he exclaims. I smile at Sam, who rolls his eyes, and I turn back to the front. The song pauses as Dean starts the engine but resumes quickly, and Dean starts to sing along under his breath as he pulls out of the parking space.

 _I just wanna stay with you_

 _In this moment forever_

 _Forever and ever..._

He bites his lip and drums his hands on the steering wheel as the chorus bursts in. I watch him in fascination; he barely seems aware that he's doing it.

 _I don't wanna close my eyes_

 _I don't wanna fall asleep_

 _'Cause I miss you, baby_

 _And I don't wanna miss a thing_

Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head for emphasis on the last line and as he opens them, he seems to become aware of my perusal. Glancing across at me, he blushes and shuts his mouth. But then, from the backseat, comes Sam's off key warbling:

 _'Cause even when I dream of you_

 _The sweetest dream will never do_

 _I still miss you, baby_

 _And I don't wanna miss a thing-_

Dean's grinning broadly by the last line and with a chuckle he joins in, eyes twinkling at his brother in the rear view mirror before he glances back at me. He winks and then holds my gaze for a moment before looking back at the road.

 _I don't wanna miss one smile_

 _I don't wanna miss one kiss_

 _I just wanna be wit' you_

 _Right here with you_

 _Just like this_

Sam and Dean are both singing loudly and quite badly now, matching the radio for volume, their smiles betrayed in their voices. I find myself wishing I knew the words so that I might sing along too, but it's nice enough to just be feeling this carefree and cheerful. I grin at them both, glad that Sam's memories aren't ruining this moment for him. It's moments like this that make humans so amazing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Decided that if last chapter delved into Sam's past major relationship, this one should address Dean's. I was very much a Lisa sceptic when I binge-watched the show last year. I remember at the time being like 'who dis bitch', not because I disliked her at all, but because we literally did not know her and really, neither did Dean. The idea that he'd randomly decided that a one-night-stand from years beforehand was his eternal happiness was just ludicrous. It still is. Now, though, I'm kind of a fan of Lisa in hindsight. She ended up being pretty great and her relationship with Dean was too. She was good for him and she helped him, maybe even more than Cas could have done at that point (and yeah I already shipped destiel at the time). Plus, I reckon that it was always more about Ben than Lisa. Anyway, there are my thoughts on Dean/Lisa: I'm glad it wasn't endgame, but I respect that he loved her and I genuinely like her. I'm glad she and Ben survived.  
'Hot Fuzz' is a top film and if you haven't seen it, you should. Please R&R!**

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Dinner that night is spaghetti Bolognese. I carefully chop carrots and zucchinis into small cubes under Sam's instruction as Dean dices the onion at the table, swearing in a thick voice. At first I wonder if Dean has emotional memories which are triggered by the vegetable, but then the fumes reach me and I feel my eyes sting too. Once we've cooked the vegetables, we set them aside and Dean takes over, cooking off the mince before adding the vegetables back in and pouring the pasta sauce over the whole thing. I loiter in the kitchen, watching him, whilst Sam retires to the library with a beer. Dean keeps up an easy chatter about the ingredients he's adding and I'm surprised that he knows so much about cooking, since he eats very little but burgers and fries and pizza when he's out hunting. I remark as much and he shrugs, smiling as he splashes red wine into the sauce.

"I wasn't much of a cook most of my life. It was Lisa who got me into it. She's an amazing cook and I used to hang around her when she made food, just watching..." he trails off, lost in memories.

I watch his eyes drift away and the tight, angry feeling in my gut catches me by surprise. Am I jealous? I must be, yes. After all, if I'd needed confirmation that Dean loved Lisa, I had it. He just described himself doing exactly what I was doing now: hanging around the one I loved while they cooked, content to just observe them. I sigh, annoyed at myself. Jealousy is a very human emotion, and not one I felt often as an angel. In fact, the first time I ever experienced it was watching Anna kiss Dean, soon after I met him. That was the first time I really became aware that I desired him, on any level. The jealousy feels stronger now. It feels, as Dean might put it, fucking terrible.

"... fresh is best, but dried is fine," Dean is saying, and I shake myself mentally, trying to pay attention. But all I can see is Dean and Lisa in a kitchen like this one, laughing over the stove top, embracing, happy together...

"Cas, you alright?" I blink and see worried green eyes staring at me.

"Do you miss her?"

There's a ringing silence and I feel myself flush as I realise I said the words out loud. Damn human impulse control, it's practically non-existent. I hold Dean's gaze though, despite my churning stomach. Dean looks away and stares at the Bolognese sauce, stirring slowly. Then he answers in a low voice.

"Yes."

I nod, sighing again, but he continues in a rush.

"I miss having that life, is what I mean. I miss the patterns and the safety of having a normal routine. I miss being in a long term relationship where I was someone else's rock, where things were constant and stupid shit like laundry and shopping lists actually mattered. I miss being a parent. I miss Ben. I really miss Ben."

His voice is a little shaky and he's still staring into the food in front of him as though it's speaking back to him. I step forward and place a tentative hand on his shoulder. He jumps and glances at me, eyes haunted. I search for the right words.

"I'm sorry you had to give them up, Dean. I did go back and check on them a couple of times, but Sam said that a clean break would be best for you, so I kept it to myself. They're doing well, though. Ben especially. He's so like you."

I smile fondly and he swallows, eyes a little bright. He whispers: "I didn't know you did that. You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to. They were so important to you. I know that you didn't want to leave them... I know that nothing can make up for them."

Dean frowns at me and turns to face me properly. My hand slips off of his shoulder and he catches it, holding it awkwardly in mid air. "What do you mean?"

I glance at our joined hands in confusion and he quickly drops my fingers, but continues to watch me questioningly. I try to elaborate.

"Lisa and Ben. You were happy with them. Things were right for you when you were with them. I know, Dean, I was watching over you."

Dean stares at me, a strange sadness in his face. "How long were you planning to keep an eye on me, Cas?"

I tilt my head and return his frown. "Well, your whole life. I wasn't just going to... Dean, you were supposed to forget about me, that's fine, but it's different for me. I can't forget about you."

I feel deeply uncomfortable once the words have left my mouth. They reveal too much. Dean is too close and his green eyes are too intense on mine. He speaks in a low voice.

"Cas, I didn't forget about you for one single day. You keep saying I was so happy with Lisa and Ben, and I was, but it wasn't perfect and it wasn't right. I was never going to be able to keep up that pretense. Sam wasn't there. You weren't there. It wouldn't have been enough, in the end." He pauses and shakes his head, eyes travelling around the small kitchen before returning to my rapt gaze. "Honestly? This is kind of it for me. Living here, with Sam and you and Kevin. You guys are my family and I'm actually content here, despite all the crap that's always going on around us. I'd like to keep this going. This is what's right for me."

Dean smiles at me then, a genuine smile, and his shoulders relax. I smile back faintly, feeling a little overwhelmed. I was so sure that Dean's greatest regret would always be losing Lisa and Ben, that Lisa was to him what Jess is to Sam. It's a relief to hear that he feels at peace with the way his life has turned out, and that he really does want me here in the bunker. I continue to watch his profile, standing closer than he'd usually allow, as he returns to stirring the Bolognese. We settle into a comfortable silence for a while and then Dean helps me through boiling the spaghetti. I go and fetch Sam once it's all ready.

Once we're all seated at the table, Dean lifts his beer up and Sam does the same. I recognise the gesture and repeat it, lifting my own untouched beer as well. Dean grins at me.

"To Cas," he proclaims, and I blink in surprise. "We're glad you're here, man."

"Hear, hear," agrees Sam firmly and I beam at them both, swelling with affection for these two men who are so eager to be my family. We clink bottles and I take a sip, grimacing a little at the taste.

"Is that 'bitter' again?" I ask Dean with interest, taking another sip and finding that the flavour smooths out very quickly on my tongue. He nods at me and then encourages me to try my food, eyes sparkling. I haven't eaten since breakfast so my stomach feels empty, and the smell drifting up from my bowl is quite appealing. Scooping some up with my fork, I frown at the dangling pieces of pasta. Why must they be so long? Sam snorts at my face but Dean shushes him and shows me how to twirl the pasta around my fork using my spoon.

"Lady and the Tramp," Sam mutters, laughing eyes on his brother. Dean shoots him an unimpressed look, but his ears are a little pink. I'm still wondering what the words could mean as I finish twirling the pasta and sauce neatly on my fork and place the food into my mouth. I stop wondering straight away; I'm too distracted.

"Oh my God," I mumble around my mouthful, eyes wide as the flavours wash over me. Dean and Sam both burst out laughing as I chew.

"Well, shit! Must be damn good food if it makes angels blaspheme," chuckles Dean, obviously pleased with my reaction. I swallow the pasta and smile at him.

"It's amazing, Dean! It's even better than P and B and J. Is all pasta this good or are you just very skilled?"

I meant the question in earnest but Sam snorts into his bowl as though I've said something funny. Dean beams at me, flushing.

"I guess I'm just awesome at cooking."

I nod seriously and concentrate on twirling another mouthful of pasta onto my fork. Sam and Dean begin a conversation about some Italian dish that Bobby used to make but I keep my eyes closed and my mind on the taste of the Bolognese. I can detect both salt and sweet, although the sweet is very faint. There are other flavours I don't have words for, though. There are sharper parts and softer parts and parts that change as I chew. There are parts that seem to float upwards into my nose and parts that have a slight warming effect. It's fascinating and so complex, but harder to pick apart than when I was an angel and so much more pleasurable. Then there's the texture of the food, which is also layered and varying and very enjoyable. I open my eyes as I near the end of the meal.

"Food is wonderful," I proclaim. Sam was in the middle of explaining a film plot, from what I can tell, and Dean has his mouth full. They both pause and nod solemnly at me as though I've discovered the secret to being human, what it's really about, the profound basis of life itself. Hell, maybe I have.

After we've all finished eating Sam insists that we watch the film he was talking about, 'Hot Fuzz'. He says that Charlie recommended it to him and that it's funny. Dean tells us to go ahead and he'll join us soon.

Sam's bedroom has the biggest television so we head in there. Sam - oddly, considering it's his room - immediately settles on the desk chair, swinging it around and straddling it backwards. I settle on the opposite side of the bed and when Dean arrives, he shrugs before sitting next to me, legs stretched out like mine. I can faintly feel his body heat and it's a comforting presence next to me. The film starts and I watch attentively. I know that some of the jokes are lost on me but the laughter of the two brothers is pleasant and Dean nudges me lightly now and again if I miss something amusing, the contact a mild shock of warmth every time.

It's towards the end of the film that the urge to move closer to him becomes impossible to resist. As an angel such an impulse would have been effortlessly quashed but as a human, I'm weak in every single way. I take a deep breath and shift nervously to my left in a quick, clumsy movement, clasping my hands in my lap and keeping my eyes locked on the screen. My thigh and hip bump lightly against Dean's and our upper arms press together. I feel his muscles twitch and tense at the contact; his breathing hitches and I know he turns his head to look at me, although I don't return his gaze. My heart thumps in my ears.

It's so strange. As a human I'm far more aware of Dean's discomfort, almost on an instinctual level. I don't need him to tell me when I'm acting 'weird', because his body language is more obvious to me now. But I care about it less. It's that selfishness again, just like last night. I know that I'm pushing his boundaries but I want to so much, and what I want matters much more to me now that I've lost my grace. Dean shifts restlessly next to me, the bare skin of his arm hot through the soft material of my shirt. His leg is firm against mine and I can faintly smell him. He probably wants me to move.

I'm not going to.


	6. Chapter 6

**Lol pie kink. That's all I'm saying about this (slightly short, sorry) chapter.  
Thank you guys so much for all the lovely reviews! To the guests who've reviewed without an account, I'm sorry I couldn't respond to your thoughts, but keep 'em coming! xxx**

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Dean doesn't move for the rest of the film. Not away from me, not at all. He holds his tense pose for several minutes before finally relaxing a little and giving a few more weak chuckles at the funny parts of the film. His hands stay stiff on his thighs and he doesn't look at me again, although I glance at his profile a few times. He's so close and the light from the television plays across his features, catching dully in his eyes.

The film finishes and Dean claps his hand together once, angling away from me to face Sam, although he still doesn't actually move from the spot. He speaks enthusiastically about the movie to his brother and I linger a moment more before climbing off of the bed, away from his warmth. Dean's voice falters and he shoots me a glance, putting one hand down on the bed where I was sitting, but in an instant the moment is gone and so is his hand and he's chatting to Sam again, tone bright.

"... usually not really my kinda stuff but I guess the Brits can be funny too."

"Yeah, I've watched a lot of the stuff Charlie's recommended and I gotta say I do like most of it. Just thought you'd probably enjoy this one. There's another one called 'Shaun of the Dead' which is pretty good too, same two guys in it, same director. Hey Cas, d'you like the movie?"

Both men look expectantly at me where I stand awkwardly by the bed. I nod with a smile. "Yes, I enjoyed the character development and the subversion of accepted stereotypes."

Sam nods thoughtfully as Dean rolls his eyes.

"Nerd," he says cheerfully, standing up from the bed too with a slight stretch that reveals a strip of flat stomach. He shoves his hands in his pockets, eyes settling on me, something like anticipation lurking in the verdant depths. "Anyone for dessert?"

Sam shrugs but I smile widely, knowing that dessert means sweet which means sugar which means my favourite type of flavour, even after the delicious pasta. I'm not hungry but not too full to eat either. I nod enthusiastically and Dean grins as he leads Sam and me out of the room.

"Lucky for you two," he says in a teasing tone as we near the kitchen, "I stopped by the bakery earlier."

An extremely pleasant aroma reaches my nose and I close my eyes to inhale it. Sam sighs from behind me. "You bought pie."

"I bought pie!" Dean crows gleefully, gesturing for us to sit at the table as he dons oven mitts and opens the oven door. He pulls out a large, round pie and begins to cut it up, serving it onto small plates. The filling is a vibrant red colour. Dean is still smiling as he takes a can out of the fridge and shakes it.

"Whipped cream? Seriously?" Sam chuckles. Dean winks at him.

"Don't laugh, Sammy, I have had some mighty good times with whipped cream."

His eyes flicker to me as he pulls the cap off of the can, but he looks away quickly. I know from his suggestive tone that he's making some sort of sexual reference. I frown as I watch him squirt cream onto each plate, wondering how whipped cream might be involved in a sexual scenario. I'm so distracted by this thought that I barely notice as Dean sets my plate down in front of me and sits at the head of the table, watching me expectantly.

"Is whipped cream an aphrodisiac?" I ask as I pick up my fork. I'm not sure why I'm so interested in this. Dean's eyebrows shoot upwards and he flushes, looking at Sam as if for help. Sam grins at me.

"No, Cas. Some people like to, uh, eat food off of their lovers. Whipped cream is a popular choice. It's kinda the ultimate combo for Dean: pie and sex."

I nod thoughtfully even as Dean splutters at his brother. "I have never eaten actual pie off of anyone!"

"Yeah, you'd like to though, you kinky bastard" retorts Sam. Dean relents with a grin, shrugging. I watch them with a smile but my mind is tugging at me with vague, half-formed images of that stomach I glimpsed earlier, with a neat dollop of whipped cream on it. Skin feeling a little heated, I scoop up some cream on my fork and bring it to my tongue, closing my eyes to test it, trying not to imagine what Dean's skin might taste like beneath it instead of the cold metal of the fork. The cream tastes soft and sweet and altogether lovely. I make a sound of approval and open my eyes to find Dean's green gaze boring into mine, his lips parted and his pupils enormous. I swallow and become aware of a throbbing sensation in my crotch. Again? Well, shit. That didn't take much. Surely this is a cumbersome design flaw for human males? My father had a cruel sense of humour.

"Damn, this is good pie," Sam interrupts the silent, tense stare-off obliviously around a mouthful of dessert. "Apple still beats cherry though."

Dean looks away and I inhale steadily, relieved that the stirrings in my jeans haven't developed further. He snorts at Sam, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"As if. Cherry is the best. Sorry it's not warmer, I had to put the oven on a timer so it's been off for like an hour."

"Nah, it's fine..."

As they speak, I'm gathering up a forkful of pie, eager to try some. I know that this is Dean's favourite food, so it must be pretty good. I bite the pie off the fork.

"Oh, fuck," I moan thickly. Sam turns shocked eyes onto me and Dean leans an elbow on the table, covering his face with his hand and mumbling something unintelligible. I smile as I chew. It's incredible. It's the best thing I've tasted so far, for sure.

"Um, Cas?" Sam's amused voice pulls me back to conscious thought and I open my eyes, not having realised that I closed them. He's smirking at me. "Orgasmic, huh? I guess you and Dean both have a pie kink."

I look across at Dean and he's bright red, staring at me with his hand still covering the lower half of his face. He removes it at Sam's words and scowls at his brother, fists clenched on the table. "Dude, what the hell?"

Sam shrugs, eyes dancing. "Just sayin', I have never heard Cas swear before so he must really like pie. You should be happy! Another member for your fan club."

I've been shovelling more pie into my mouth as I watch them argue back and forth, revelling in the warmth and the flaky sweetness of the pie crust and the sharp, tangy burst of the cherries with the sugary sauce soothing it all. I'm careful not to moan again; it seemed to upset or offend Dean somehow. I try some with the whipped cream and it's delicious. Everything is delicious.

"Dean, you were so right about pie," I tell him fervently as I scoop up the last of it from my plate. He looks at me and gives a quick grin. He's barely halfway through his.

"I know," he chuckles, shoulders relaxing and eyes softening. Sam finishes up his pie as I do and he stretches as he stands up.

"I'm off to bed, guys," he announces, grabbing his plate. "See you in the morning. Hopefully Kevin gets back tomorrow."

Dean nods as he chews his pie and I wish Sam a good night's sleep, yawning around the words. Sam smiles tiredly and leaves the room, echoing my yawn. I watch Dean eat up the last of his pie, feeling content and pleasantly sleepy. It's hard to believe that there might be any nightmares tonight. I want to be sure, though.

"Dean," I say softly as Dean swallows his last mouthful and pushes his plate away, making satisfied noises and nodding appreciatively. He looks at me expectantly. "Dean, could I sleep in your bed again tonight?"

Dean's smile disappears and he looks oddly frightened, then defensive. He shifts in his chair and looks away.

"No," he bites out, picking up his plate and standing abruptly. I'm shocked at the way the little word strikes out at me, tearing at my breath and causing my happiness to dissolve into hurt. Dean glances at me, at my unguarded face and how it's fallen, and frowns heavily.

"Shit, Cas, don't look at me like... OK, look, compromise. You sleep in your bed but if you have a nightmare, you can come to my room. Only if. Alright?"

He looks so tense and I wonder miserably if having me sleep beside him was really that unpleasant for him. He slept in the same bed as Lisa for a year, so it must be about me personally rather than about having to share his bed space. I nod slowly and mutter my thanks, silently vowing that I won't go to his room tonight or any other night, not if he hates it this much. A feeling of humiliation begins to set in and it burns high in my stomach, my skin turning cold. I stare at my plate as I stand up and I hear Dean sigh.

"Cas don't get mad at me. It... it's just another personal space thing. You're still learning. It's OK."

I do feel a little better and I raise my eyes to meet his small smile. We wash the dishes quickly and then head to the bathroom, where Dean takes me through the steps of brushing my teeth again. Then he claps me on the shoulder and he's gone.

I use the toilet again - it's my least favourite part of being human, at least while I'm awake - and head to my room, taking off everything but my boxers and neatly folding my clothes to leave them on top of the chest of drawers. I stare at them for a moment, remembering the way Dean folded my coat when he thought I was dead, keeping it with him, not forgetting me. The coat in question is in the laundry right now along with everything else I wore as an angel. I wonder if I'll ever wear it again. It was sort of like a uniform, along with the suit and the tie. A uniform that no longer applies to me. I tilt my head back and take a deep breath. I have to learn how to stop getting emotional about the slightest thing.

Pulling on Dean's Metallica shirt again, I climb into the cold bed and turn out the lamp. The dark presses in on me but that's not what pokes at the fear coiled inside me. I close my eyes, wishing that I still had any friends in Heaven so that I might pray for a night free from terror. Surely it was just a reaction to becoming human. Surely it won't happen that badly again. Surely...


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey! This chapter has some fluff followed by some justification for the M rating. Don't get too excited though...  
Was anyone else confused by how thoroughly forgotten poor Daphne was after Cas stopped being Emmanuel? And even though I've gone along with the canon that Cas was a virgin before April (ugh so glad I got rid of that bullshit in this fic), I'm still not sure why Dean and Sam thought so. Meg? Daphne? Was Dean just willfully ignoring all the probable sexual partners Cas appeared to have had before April? Lol yeah probs.  
** **Thank you for all the reviews, beautiful people! They make me super happy.** **  
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I jerk awake after barely two hours, whimpering and trembling. Scrambling onto my knees and pushing the covers off of me in a desperate panic, I feel the sweat running down my back, tracing my spine unpleasantly. I let out a groan and wrap my arms around myself, screwing my damp eyes shut and squeezing the tears out. I try to take a calming breath but it hitches and catches and I end up crying brokenly, unable to rid myself of the image of all the angels I slaughtered in Heaven, blackened wings outstretched in a silent, belated plea for mercy. Mixed up with that memory is one that shouldn't be worse but it is, and they form a grotesque set of mirror images. Deans, hundreds of Deans, bloodied and staring, littering the floor, all dead by my hand. I'm sobbing out loud, the sound too shocking in the silent room, distressing me further.

Dean. I should go to Dean, he said I could, he said it would be alright. But then I remember his face when I asked, the reluctance with which he made his 'compromise'. He doesn't want me there. He doesn't want me.

So I curl in on myself, kneeling on the rumpled bed with my chin tucked into my chest, fingers digging painfully into my sides as I press my folded arms against my stomach. I can't seem to stop myself from crying, still too loud, still too broken, but maybe if I let myself go it will all drain out somehow and I'll be exhausted enough to sleep in peace. Dean, I want Dean, I need Dean...

"Cas?"

It's him. Dean's voice is hushed and muffled though the door but it's unmistakably him. I give a surprised hiccup and freeze, staring at the sheets in the almost-black of the room. I'm not sure what to do, but a moment later the decision is taken out of my hands as the door creaks open. Light spills in and Dean steps through the gap, shutting it quickly behind him. He repeats my name in a whisper and I heave a ragged breath, feeling ashamed and confused. Why is he even here? Why does he have to encounter me like this? I hate being the weaker one.

"I'm sorry, Dean," I mumble dully, well aware that my voice sounds shattered. I don't even hear him move but suddenly he's there, climbing onto the bed beside me and wrapping strong arms about my shoulders.

"Sshhh, it's OK, Cas," he breathes into my hair, and something in his voice sounds almost relieved as he draws me gently back down to my pillows, settling me against his side and dragging the covers over us. I choke out a shocked thanks and he shushes me again, warm breath tickling my scalp. I snake my arms around his waist and rest my face against his firm, cotton-covered chest, bewildered that he's here but feeling beyond grateful for it. I'm calmer already, my gasps turning to deep breaths, my tears slowing to a halt. Eyes closed, I breathe in his smell and feel the way his stomach muscles ripple and then relax beneath my arm.

"How did you know?" My voice is barely there, a husky murmur spoken mostly into his shirt, but he gives a huff of laughter in response, expelled breath ruffling the hair on my crown.

"I didn't. I got up to pee and I heard you on my way back. Why didn't you come see me? I told you to come see me if this happened again."

"I didn't think you'd want me to. I don't want to be a burden to you, Dean."

Dean's arm tightens around me, hugging me to him, strong and sure and so warm.

"Bullshit, Cas. Bullshit. You're not a burden. You're family."

His thumb strokes soothing circles into my shoulder and I screw up my eyes against his chest, overwhelmed by emotion. I can hear and feel his heartbeat, swift and strong like mine. It slows as I listen and I match my breathing to it. I feel safe in a way that I never have before, cocooned in Dean's scent and guarded by the weight of his arm, heavy across my upper back. Drifting off to sleep is pleasant this time around, possibly one of the most serene experiences of my entire existence.

Waking up is not so peaceful.

I awake suddenly, jostled into consciousness. My face is mashed against warm, stubbled skin and my left arm is curled against a solid chest. My left leg is similarly positioned, hitched up over a blunt hipbone, inner thigh pressed against the other hipbone-

Wait. Fuck. No. That's not the other hipbone.

My eyes snap open just as Dean jostles me again, clearly trying to slide out of my embrace without waking me. He bites back a small moan as the action drags my thigh against his erection and I shut my eyes again, head spinning. I hear his barely-audible cursing and feel his throat move against my mouth. I suddenly want to smile, which is bizarre. I take a moment to try to analyse my own feelings, because they are truly baffling. I feel oddly pleased by this whole situation. Aroused, yes, but it's more than that. I feel... smug. I feel smug because Dean Winchester's erection is digging into my leg.

I press my lips together, determined not to let my smirk break free. Emotions are ridiculous. I know how human biology works. Dean's current situation has nothing to do with me. It's a common occurrence for men to have symptoms of physical arousal in the mornings, as I have discovered firsthand. I should not be feeling this happy over a simple quirk of nature. It has no connection to my presence in his arms.

But my proximity to his problem is definitely having an exacerbating effect on it, I reason with myself as he inches further out of my grasp and gives another frustrated whimper. And that is something to feel legitimately smug about.

"Cas," Dean gasps, the sound muffled, and I realise that he's got his hand pressed to his mouth, his whole body tense and shaking, breathing fast and shallow. The blood rushes to my groin and I bite down on my lip, using all of my meagre self-control to stop myself from dropping my sleeping act, climbing on top of him and seeing where my desire leads me. Dean is helpless and aroused and uttering my name like he's praying and it's the most exciting thing I can imagine.

But I was raised in Heaven itself, after all, and I do have a strong moral compass even as a human. I shouldn't take advantage of this situation just to fulfill my own fantasies. Dean is a person, the most important person in my life, not a toy. If by some far-fetched miracle Dean ever does desire me as anything other than a friend or a comrade, I want it to be because he enters into the situation willingly, not because biology makes him weak and impairs his judgement.

Reluctantly, I feign a sleepy mumble and withdraw my knee, pulling it down to rest with my other leg far away from Dean's crotch. Dean gives another satisfyingly strained whimper as I move but after a few seconds of holding his breath, he lets out a rushed sigh of relief, warming my head as his breath fans through my hair. Shuffling carefully the last few inches away, he extracts himself from under my arm and gently gets out of my bed. I keep my face slack and my eyes closed, hands trailing out in front of me to where his body was moments before.

There's a moment of silence as he presumably stands by the bed and I wonder why he isn't leaving already. Surely he must be in some level of physical discomfort. I know I am. Is he staring at me? My room is totally bare so I can't think of what else he might be staring at. I feel unbearably twitchy. Staying still was much easier as an angel. Finally, he pads across the room and I hear the door open and shut. I wait another five seconds, making sure he's definitely gone, before I slowly crack open my eyes and roll onto my back, letting out an unsteady breath.

That was an intense experience. I'm still not sure what to make of it, so I replay the whole thing in my head, lingering on the sensations and the sounds and...

My hand has wandered down to the waistband of my boxers before I'm aware of moving it. I hesitate, but it does seem to be the practical thing to do. I've never done this properly before, though. I almost did, as an angel, more out of curiosity than anything else. It was when I was with Daphne. We were kissing and she ran her hand up my thigh then even further before pulling back, looking ashamed. Bless the poor woman. She refused to do more than gently kiss me, insisting that anything more would be immoral and wrong until I got my memories back and we could be sure that I was free to be hers. Besides, although we were 'married in the eyes of God', we hadn't completed a legal ceremony and she felt that it would be sinful.

Her exploratory touch, though, was pleasant and provocative. I touched myself more thoroughly, if hesitantly, in my room that night; wondering what her hands would feel like, easing myself into a rhythm. But the sudden image in my head at that point was of strong, male hands touching me and golden-green eyes gleaming in the dark. I stopped immediately, confused and distressed. Dean found me mere days after that, and it was weeks after regaining my memories before I thought back and realised what had happened.

Now, lying alone with Dean's scent still floating in the air, it doesn't feel forbidden or wrong to think of him that way. If I was fantasising about him when I couldn't even remember him then there isn't much point in resisting now anyway. Holding my breath, I slip my fingers slowly beneath the loose cling of my boxer waistband, feeling the warm, rough texture of the hair there. Skating over that, I run my fingertips aimlessly up the engorged flesh below it, exhaling heavily as I assess the way all my nerve endings there seem to be sparking and fizzing with desperate energy.

My head falls back onto the pillow and I moan almost inaudibly as my thumb strokes over the tip and spreads the meagre moisture around. Leaning heavily on instinct and trying to summon memories of times I've watched humans masturbate, I move my curled hand up and down hesitantly, twisting my wrist as I go. I shift in the bed, trying to find a comfortable rhythm, brain still flicking through memories until-

I tighten my grip involuntarily as one of my more deeply buried memories comes back to me, suppressed because it's stained with shame and guilt. It's from years ago when I first knew Dean, before I betrayed Heaven for him, before I allowed myself to admit how attached I'd become to the soul I rescued from Hell, before I really understood that I felt any kind of physical attraction to the man. I went to him in the early hours of the morning to relay a message from Uriel, appearing in the motel room almost silently, my wings making barely a whisper.

I was facing Sam's bed so I checked him first, seeing that he was fast asleep. A light sound from the other bed caught my attention and I turned to see that Dean was not asleep, although his eyes were closed. His hands were stretched down below his stomach, the leg closest to me drawn up and blocking them. His face was tensed as though in pain but even as I started to move towards him he gave a pleased hum, arms shifting on his stomach and lips curving in a smile. I cocked my head, confused, and after considering it for a moment I turned myself invisible and walked silently over to Dean's bed.

I understood immediately what he was doing as soon as I got a good view and I was aware that I shouldn't be watching him, since this kind of thing was considered private by humans. But I'd never really thought about Dean and sex before - probably because sex never usually crossed my mind in the first place - and I found the combination, along with the scene before me, oddly compelling. My vision unhindered by the lack of lighting, I allowed my gaze to travel across Dean, from the rapidly pumping loose fist to the exposed groin and stomach to the way his back arched off the bed to his face, and that was the part which captured me the most.

His eyes were mostly closed but they fluttered open now and then, the green colour muted in the dark room, rolling back as the lids squeezed shut again. His skin was flushed and gleaming with a layer of sweat, his lower lip caught firmly between white teeth, breath strained and quiet. He was almost silent but every now and then, he'd let a tiny groan or gasp out. They were becoming more frequent as I watched and I leaned forward in rapt attention, my guilt temporarily forgotten...

Back in the present, I come in tandem with the Dean in my memory, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth to muffle the noise. I'm not sure how long I lie there gasping, but it has to be at least several minutes later before a coherent thought floats through my scattered mind. I open my eyes with some effort and gaze at the ceiling, feeling much as I did after eating the Bolognese and the pie. I have just completed another important human experience, and I feel rather accomplished.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ohoho! Some introspection at last. Yeah, mutual obliviousness is a classic, but Cas isn't a fucking idiot and Dean is bad at hiding what a thirsty hoe he is. Don't worry, our leading ex-angel has enough self-doubt and inexperience to keep the slow burn going a while longer.  
** **Honestly, human concepts about gender and sexuality baffle me, and I am in fact a native human. Poor Cas must think we're absolute nutjobs.  
** **Much as I love shipper!Sammy, he is loyal to his bro, so not much matchmaking moose here. Sorry!  
** **Please enjoy this slightly filler-y chapter :)**

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It takes me a good twenty minutes to muster up the energy to get out of bed but once I do, I become aware that I am in dire need of a shower. I quickly strip out of my boxers and shirt, grimacing at the dried mess. Simple pleasures might be an advantage humans have over angels, but the ever-displeasing presence of bodily fluids is not. Wiping myself off with the soiled clothes, I ball them up and wrap them in my t-shirt from yesterday, which doesn't appear to need washing but is now destined for the laundry anyway.

I then debate what I should wear to the bathroom. I don't have a robe and it seems unnecessary to put on my jeans and a fresh shirt just for a short walk up the hallway. I vividly recall several occasions when I appeared in various motel rooms over the years to find Dean - and Sam, but my memory is less sharply detailed there - with a towel wrapped around his waist so I do that, firmly tucking the end into the slight hollow inside my hipbone. Pleased with my developing grasp of human behaviour, I pick up my small bundle of clothes and head for the laundry, one hand poised to catch my makeshift garment should it slip.

The laundry door is ajar and I nudge it open with my hip, which unfortunately tugs on my towel. Grabbing it and holding it up, I almost trip into the small room, dirty clothes dropping to the floor. I want to feel annoyed, but I'm somewhat distracted because the laundry is already occupied.

Dean stands about a foot in front of me, hands out to catch me on reflex, face frozen in surprise. His wide eyes travel over my bare torso to where I'm keeping the towel in place with my hand, low on my stomach. I can feel myself blushing and I wonder if normal humans actually have whole days in which they're not horribly embarrassed at some point. It's hard to imagine.

"Hello, Dean," I sigh, hoisting the towel up higher and watching as his gaze skitters back up to my face. He opens his mouth but then shuts it again and nods sharply, looking almost annoyed. I honestly just can't be bothered trying to decipher what's causing that so I drop down to pick up my balled up clothes. When I straighten up Dean's eyes are closed and he doesn't seem to be making any move to do or say anything, so I squeeze past him to examine the two machines there, wondering which one I should use.

"Cas." Dean's voice is low and rough and I find that I can quite easily ignore the pleasant thrum in my stomach at the sound. Masturbating seems to have had the unforeseen effect of drastically relaxing my attraction to Dean, making it somewhat less difficult to manage and suppress my reactions to him. I muse vaguely on whether this will be a permanent change or just a temporary one as I hum a questioning sound in response to the man behind me, not turning to look at him as I'm reading the words on the closest machine. There's a short silence during which I conclude that yes, this is the washing machine, and I open the lid, dropping my clothes into it.

"Dean, which buttons should I press to-"

I turn and my words cut off abruptly as I find Dean hovering directly behind me, eyes directed downwards at my bare skin. I gulp as he raises them to mine, inches away, and I think weakly that perhaps Dean's effect on me hasn't been as altered as I thought. His pupils are very dilated considering the bright lightbulb overhead and he still looks annoyed, or something close to annoyance. Whatever it is, it's intense and it's clearly directed at me. My fist tightens nervously on my towel and I draw in a deep breath.

"What is it?" I ask, unnerved by his silence. He blinks at me and looks down at the floor, scowling.

"Nothing," he mutters and I frown in confusion. He steps back slightly and shoves his hands into his pockets. "You turn the dial to setting three and then press the big round button. Add a scoop of powder first though."

"What powder?"

Dean looks back up and the ghost of a smirk appears on his lips. Just as I'm thinking that his behaviour couldn't be any more confusing and strange he steps forward into my space, almost touching me, eyes trailing down to my mouth. It drops open in shock and my spine stiffens. I only have time to register that whatever calming effect the masturbation had has well and truly passed before he steps back again, holding a colourful cardboard box.

"This powder," he says simply, holding it out for me to take. I shake my head, feeling like I've missed an important element of this whole exchange. Dean waves the box impatiently at me, still smirking a little, and I squint at him as I reach out and take it. Is he alright? Is he under some sort of spell? What the hell is going on?

"One scoop," he reminds me. I nod slowly and his gaze sears across my chest and stomach once more before he turns and strides out of the room, leaving me staring after him.

I ponder his odd behaviour as I turn the washing machine on and make my way to the bathroom, trying to work it out as I rub shampoo into my hair and scrub my skin with soap. I'm still utterly clueless as I towel myself off, wrapping the material back around my hips. Giving my teeth a careful brushing in front of the fogged up mirror, I exit the bathroom and go back to my room to get dressed.

It's as I'm leaving my room, wearing my outfit from the previous day but with a new grey t shirt, that I stop in sudden doubtful realisation. I replay the image of Dean's facial expression in my head, the one he wore when he stared at me in the laundry. I put it together with the strange behaviour directly afterwards, the way he leaned so close to me and almost brushed his mouth against mine, just for an instant. I think of his arousal in my bed this morning, the way he whimpered as my leg touched his crotch. I think of the way he's looked at me several times since I became human, the same way he's been looking at me for years, that tense, torn look in his eyes and the quickened breathing when we're close together. I think of Purgatory, all the times that I dismissed as strange human emotional responses to an extraordinary situation, the intensity in Dean's eyes whenever he spoke to me.

Does Dean desire me?

I gulp, trying to think past my automatic rejection of the idea. Perhaps I am projecting my own feelings onto him, but I have to admit to myself that it makes some sense, especially with his recent behaviour. I think of Sam and the strange, knowing smirk he always wears when he looks at Dean and I together. Like he knows something secret.

But Dean has always appeared to have a very strong, apparently exclusive preference for women. I've never really understood sexuality particularly well but I'm aware that if only for biological purposes, humans tend to develop attraction mostly to their opposite sex. For Dean that's females, and he's always seemed very open about his sexual and romantic interest in women. I've never seen him display those kinds of interests in men. From what I understand, most men only desire women and vice versa. My personal gender identity, whatever that means, is fairly murky since my concept of gender is as vague as my concept of sexuality, but I'm aware that both Dean and Sam tend to view me as very much male. So if I'm a man in Dean's eyes, and he only feels attraction to women, perhaps it's not possible for him to want me. My heart sinks as I ponder this flaw in my theory.

But then I think more about the idea of Dean developing an attraction to a male-presenting person. It seems unlikely, but from what I know about human emotions and desires, nothing is impossible. And perhaps I don't know much about human gender and sexuality, but I do know Dean. Dean is an insecure person with a tendency to create personas and masks to present to others. From what I've seen throughout human history, same sex attraction is often frowned upon and even in modern times, many people have some sort of incomprehensible problem with it. If Dean felt such an attraction, it would be very like him to ignore and deny it for the sake of maintaining his secure self-image. Perhaps he fears judgement from others, or perhaps he himself has an instinctively negative reaction towards the idea of same sex attraction.

I lean against the wall, my head spinning as I argue back and forth with myself. It's a ridiculous, far-fetched concept, that Dean could feel anything but friendship for me, but my newly human mind seems to revel in it rather than rejecting it logically the way I would have as an angel. And even with all my doubts and rationalising, the more I think about the way he looks at me the more it seems to mirror my own feelings about him.

Oh, shit, maybe it's not just me. Maybe Dean actually wants me too. Maybe...

"Cas?"

Sam is walking up the hallway towards me, a mug in his hand. He smiles at me, his face open and friendly, and I ask the question on my mind before I can stop myself.

"Does Dean have romantic or sexual feelings for me?"

Sam stops dead, eyes going wide and mouth dropping open. He blinks at me and I stare back, heart hammering in my chest. There's a long pause before Sam clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably on his feet, looking away.

"Um, that's probably something you should ask Dean, Cas..."

I frown. "He might say that he doesn't. He might say that even if he does, but he also might say it because it's the truth. And if that happens, I would be extremely embarrassed and he would be extremely uncomfortable. So, no, I wouldn't like to ask him this."

Sam sighs and runs his free hand through his hair. "Yeah, I get that. But I can't just discuss this behind his back. You're going to have to figure it out yourself."

"But surely you have some idea-"

"No, Cas," he says sharply, meeting my eyes again. "He's my brother. I'm not talking about this with you, even if I'd like to help you out. You need to suck it up and ask him, or find out some other way, because this conversation is over."

I swallow, feeling selfish and ashamed for trying to push the issue. Sam's eyes soften and he claps me on the shoulder as he walks past. "Sorry, buddy."

I murmur acknowledgment and listen to his footsteps move away, thinking hard. I can't ask Dean this. I just can't, the very idea makes me feel ill. But now that the possibility has taken root in my head, I also can't just leave it alone. I need to know, because I adore Dean with everything I am and the idea of him returning even a fraction of that feeling is intoxicating.

Pacing slowly up the hallway, I think about the moments which tend to make me feel like there's more going on in Dean's head than he's letting on. Practically any time we have close physical contact, for sure. And any time I say anything which might be construed as sexually suggestive or indicative of our close bond. He seems affected at certain times by my physical appearance, when I'm wearing aesthetically appealing clothes or certainly when I'm only wearing a towel. And he always displays his reactions more openly when Sam's not around.

Alright, then. I nod decisively to myself, formulating a rough plan in my head. I'll try these things out on Dean more frequently - close physical contact, suggestive and affectionate comments, pleasing physical appearance and regular lack of clothing, more time alone together - and analyse his reactions closely. If he doesn't desire me, then surely nothing will come of it and no one will need to feel humiliated or discomfited. If he does... well, I'm not sure, but it's worth a try.

I take a deep breath as I enter the kitchen and see Dean making coffee. Time to begin.


	9. Chapter 9

**Here we go! Cas has at least started shuffling towards the truth. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I'm quite fond of it. I'm sure you won't need any help realising what's troubling Dean towards The End of this chapter but I just gave you a clue anyway... ;) Please review! Big thanks to all the people following this story, I hope it continues to please you!**

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"May I please have a cup?"

Dean jumps as I ask the question directly behind him, leaning over his shoulder and inhaling his scent along with the smell of the fresh coffee. He glances sideways at me and I watch the skin on his neck flush, fascinated by the colour change.

"Uh, sure," he mumbles, sliding quickly away from me to reach up and grab a mug from the cupboard. I frown in disappointment and lean my hip against the counter top. Absently, I take the sugar jar and pull the lid off, glancing down as I lick my finger and dab at the white crystals. I look back up at Dean as I place my finger back in my mouth, sucking slowly. He freezes with the mug in his hand, staring at me with his lips parted.

"That's unhygienic," he says hoarsely after a beat of silence, putting the mug heavily down on the counter and slamming the cupboard closed. I quickly take my finger from my mouth, dismayed at his clear irritation.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, replacing the sugar jar in its spot. I sigh down at my feet. Maybe I was wrong about Dean possibly wanting me. It was a ludicrous idea, really. Dean is making the coffee in silence and I watch him, noting the tension in his shoulders and the distracted frown on his face. He completes his task and turns sharply, shoving the coffee towards me, clearly expecting me to be ready and waiting rather than lost in my own thoughts. The coffee misses my hands and hits my chest, splashing the hot brown liquid all over my shirt. I jump and swear in shock and pain and Dean echoes me, dropping the mug to smash at my feet.

"Shit, sorry, oh crap, I am so sorry," he gabbles as he steps closer, mug shards crunching under his shoes, eyes wide and horrified. The coffee burned on my skin at first but the sting is quickly subsiding, although my face is frozen in surprise. I blink down at the stain on my shirt and then look up at Dean.

"It's alright," I assure him, reaching out and squeezing his arm. His green gaze is full of remorse and I smile, touched that he's worried about something as small as spilling a hot drink on me. At least I can be sure that Dean cares about me, even if just as a friend; that's the most important thing.

"Damn it..." he sighs, rubbing a hand tiredly against his face, but he returns my smile ruefully. "Swear I'm not usually that clumsy. You OK?"

I nod. The liquid wasn't hot enough to do any real damage. "I'm fine. The shirt is ruined, though."

Dean surveys the stained material. "Nah, I reckon that might come out with some stain remover. Probably should go put it in the wash right away, though."

I nod seriously as Dean turns away, crouching to open a low cupboard. About to leave the room, I pause as a thought occurs to me, and though I hesitate and bite my lip, I can't resist the opportunity. I pull my plaid shirt off and lay it on the counter as Dean takes a dustpan and brush from the cupboard, then my vision is obscured as I yank the sodden t shirt over my head. When I emerge from the cotton, Dean has stood back up, the dustpan and brush dangling loosely from one hand. He's staring at my bare torso sort of like he was in the laundry, but more like the way he looked at me when I stepped out of the changing room in my new outfit and when I cleaned up after returning from Purgatory.

It seems that taking my shirt off again was a good idea. I tilt my head at Dean, highly interested in the way his wide eyes drag across my skin and his mouth hangs open as though he's forgotten how to control his face. He just looks so fascinated and his breathing has definitely picked up. He doesn't seem to be disapproving or offended, but why else would he be staring at my bare flesh as though his entire attention has been captured by it? I bite my lip, unwilling to jump to conclusions but unable to quash the flutter of hopeful excitement in my belly.

"Dean," I say softly. He jumps and blushes brightly as his eyes meet mine.

"Sorry," he blurts out. I furrow my brow in puzzlement and he snaps his mouth shut, looking annoyed. "I meant, uh, sorry again. For the coffee. Can't see a mark though."

He gestures at my chest without looking at it, eyes going instead to the counter top beside him. I nod, looking down at myself.

"I don't think there will be. I'd better go and put this in the washing machine though. You said to use a special stain remover? Where might I find that?"

"In the cupboard next to the machine. Blue bottle with a yellow label, or maybe green, I don't know."

Dean is looking down at the dustpan and brush in his hands as he speaks, fiddling with them, his voice oddly clipped. I mutter thanks and turn away, hearing him sigh behind me as he starts clearing up the mug. I stop and turn back, stepping up to where he kneels on the kitchen floor, head bent down towards his task.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I should have offered to help. Is there anything I can do?"

He pauses and slowly looks up at me where I stand over him, clutching my shirt in one hand. As before, his eyes skim over my torso, but this time they also flicker down to my crotch, which is only just above his eye level. I shift uncomfortably in the silence, waiting for him to reply. Dean kneels up straighter, eyes latching onto mine, the green shimmering like the reflective armour of a beetle. I get lost in the colour within a few moments and my mind wanders lazily, thinking that Dean looks incredibly good from this angle, that there's something strangely appealing about the way he's staring up at me through his lashes, lips parted and gaze intense. I flush as my devious brain suddenly presents me with memories of seeing human lovers on Earth over the years posed like this, and the thought of Dean being on his knees before me like that, for worship of an entirely sinful kind, is unbearably provocative. My heart rate and breathing stumble and speed up as I stare down at Dean's mouth. I feel dizzy. I feel mad. I feel like if I stand here for another fucking moment I might pass out or-

"Um, wow, what is going on here?"

Dean and I both visibly twitch in surprise and I draw my breath in sharply as I wrench my eyes from his face to look at the doorway. Kevin is standing there, eyebrows raised comically high, a rucksack slung over one shoulder. I step smartly back from Dean, holding the damp, bundled shirt in front of me defensively, although I'm not sure why I feel threatened. Kevin is staring at my bare torso but there's none of the entranced focus of Dean's gaze. I open my mouth to speak but Dean beats me to it, his voice too casual.

"Oh, hey, Kev. I dropped a mug, spilled coffee all over Cas, clearing it up. How you been doing?"

Kevin looks at Dean and smiles faintly. "Yeah, not bad. Needed the break, that's for sure. You?"

"Yeah, all good here," shrugs Dean, and I glance at him to see that he's sweeping the mug shards into the dustpan, face blank. I look back at Kevin but the boy is already watching me with interest.

"So you're human now, yeah?" he asks me, shifting the strap of his bag. I nod slowly. Kevin whistles. "That's rough, man. You moved in here?"

"Yes," I reply quietly. Kevin glances at my chest again and looks back down at Dean, who's taking a long time to clear the broken mug up.

"Gotta say," remarks Kevin, staring at Dean for a moment before returning his dark, intelligent gaze to me, "You're a lot more buff than you usually look with that trench coat on. Is that an angel thing, or do you work out?"

I blink, thinking about it. I try to remember what my vessel was like when I first began using it. Much the same, I think. "I don't, um, work out. The original owner of this body did though. He had gym equipment in his home. Once I took him as a vessel, my grace maintained the body and I suppose the musculature was part of that. Now that I'm human, I imagine that I'll have to exercise and maintain a regular fitness schedule if I want to continue looking, as you say, 'buff'."

Kevin chuckles but Dean remains silent, finally standing and striding over to the bin to dispose of the broken mug. I'm starting to get a little unnerved by his closed off expression. Kevin, however, is eyeing him thoughtfully.

"Dean can help you with that," he says, smiling. Dean, who's wet a cloth from the sink and is kneeling back down on the floor to clean up the spilled coffee, jerks his head up and narrows his eyes at the younger man.

"Help with what?" he says gruffly. Kevin sighs as though Dean is testing his patience.

"You have a gym room somewhere in this place, right? And like, look at you, you clearly work out. I mean, not as much as Sam, but-"

"Sam eats rabbit food and spends all his damn time jogging, so if that's the price to pay for looking like a male model, no thanks," snaps Dean defensively. Kevin smirks.

"OK, OK. But you do work out, right?"

Dean's eyes flick to me and away again so fast I almost miss it. "Yeah. Yeah I do."

Kevin spreads his hands out. "Then it's settled! You can be Cas's personal trainer, make sure he's getting plenty of exercise, staying fit, keeping his abs in shape."

I stare between the two men, thoroughly confused by Kevin's interest in the shape of my 'abs', whatever they are. Dean visibly gulps, eyes widening. He glances at me again, shaking his head.

"Cas can use the gym on his own. That's his business. I ain't anybody's personal trainer."

"Ah, come on, Dean," replies Kevin casually. "Help the poor guy out, he's never had to actually work on his fitness before. Besides... I'm sure you can think of a few ways to get him sweating, huh?"

Kevin winks at Dean, who gapes at him in clear disbelief. Waving at me, Kevin exits the room, leaving a ringing silence in his wake. I frown in confusion. That whole exchange was very puzzling. Kevin is an odd boy, but perhaps all prophets are unusual people. Turning to Dean, I'm surprised to find him hunched over his task on the floor, neck and ears bright red. He looks mortified.

"I would actually greatly appreciate some direction in maintaining my physical strength, Dean." I venture after a drawn out pause. Dean scrambles to his feet and turns to the sink again without looking at me, so I continue to talk, an odd human reaction to the tension in the room. As an angel I probably would have stood in silence or simply left. "Before I fell I was infinitely more powerful and it's disconcerting to feel so weak as a human. I wouldn't want to feel any weaker."

Rinsing and squeezing the cloth out, Dean slaps it down in the sink and finally turns to face me, his eyes hostile. I shrink back in dismay.

"You think humans are so crappy?" he snarls, stepping towards me. "You think we're so weak?"

"What? No, I-"

"Well, sorry you feel that way, but being crappy and weak is sort of the human condition, so you may as well get fuckin' used to it. Welcome to the club-"

He stops suddenly, looking strangely aghast at what he's just said, and stares at me blankly. It's like he's looking through me, like he's remembering something. He's really starting to worry me. Twisting the shirt in my hands, I step hesitantly towards him and his eyes flicker back to life, as though he's come back from wherever he was.

"Dean, I don't think you're crappy or weak. You know that. I... I think you're amazing. All of you, all of humanity, although I'll admit that I'm guilty of favouritism."

I smile wryly at him and he relaxes a little, his mouth pulling up at the corner. I continue in haste, glad to see his mood softening.

"It's like you said. I'm adjusting. I miss being an angel, Dean, and I probably always will. Humans are wonderful, you and Sam have shown me that, but being one is hard for me and-"

"I'll help you," Dean interrupts. His voice is firm and solemn, the words spoken as a promise. I raise my eyebrows in surprise at his sudden change of attitude and he nods seriously at me. "If you need help adjusting, I'll make sure you have it. So will Sam. Just..."

He swallows and continues more quietly, glancing down at the floor. "Promise me you won't go off the rails. Even if being human is shitty and difficult, promise me you won't start... popping pills and... and sleeping around. And stuff."

"Why would I-"

"Just promise," he snaps, eyes fierce. I close my mouth and nod, holding his gaze. He sighs, shakes his head and turns back to the sink.

"Good. Better go put that shirt in the wash."

I stare at him for a moment longer before slowly turning and making my way back to the laundry. What a strange morning.


	10. Chapter 10

**I know, I know, bacon is not to be insulted, but I already established that Cas doesn't like salty food and bacon is like 90% salt and I am a stickler for continuity OK?!  
** **This chapter is blatant filler and maaaaaybe the next one is too but I'm uploading quicker than all the fics I'm currently following so I don't really feel that bad tbh.  
** **Is anyone else reeling with shocked hope and trying to cling to cynical safety after 11x19?! I can't fathom what purpose that ep served except to say 'look, we are capable of writing a queer character and relationship without sacrificing manliness, toughness, badassery, angst, the hunting thing or the obsessive brother thing... or plaid'. Oh, and to really drive home that Dean's attitude towards Cas at this point is cliched pining. Interesting. I want to scream and laugh hysterically every time I think about it. Where is this shit going? OH MY CHUCK I CANNOT HANDLE THIS**

* * *

Dean is gone by the time I return to the kitchen but Sam is in there, rummaging in the fridge. I swallow down my disappointment, irritated with myself. I should be glad to see Sam, especially as he almost died. I watch him from the doorway for a moment, wondering uneasily if he's annoyed with me for asking him personal questions about Dean. Sam is kind, though, and has always treated me with understanding and patience.

As I watch him, he seems to sense my presence. He stiffens, straightens up and turns to face me. I step back, startled. It's not Sam. I know that instantly, even with limited human senses.

"Castiel," says Ezekiel guardedly, his eyes cold. I tilt my head at him, troubled. He just feels so wrong, so different, but perhaps we all do after the fall. I take another step towards him, determined to start trying to fix this mess.

"Ezekiel. I'm glad to see you. I have been meaning to speak with you." He only tilts his head at me, waiting for me to continue, so I take a deep breath and do so. "What happened to you, brother? I know I'm to blame for a lot of things, but we used to be friends. Can you not find it within yourself to treat me as such?"

Ezekiel gives me long, blank look before he replies. "We may have been friends once. But that time is gone now, and I have to think of my own safety in this new era. I understand you doing the same, but do not expect me to look past the fact that your presence here could be the downfall of us both, as well as the two other humans."

I give a little start as I realise that in this statement he is referring to me as human. I forgot for a moment, thinking that in speaking to Ezekiel I was speaking to my kin, that we understood each other as fellow angels. But those days are gone, and apparently so is the Ezekiel I knew and admired in centuries past. A wave of sadness washes over me as Ezekiel turns away in silence and I watch the strong, broad back relax as Sam resumes control of his body. He hums in consideration, pulling out a box of eggs and a pack of bacon. Turning, he jumps a little to find me standing a few feet behind him, staring up at his face.

"Shit, Cas! How'd you sneak up so fast? Your wings haven't grown back, have they?"

Laughter thrums in his voice as he says the last words but his smile fades as he takes in my glum expression. He shifts uncomfortably on the spot.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to be insensitive. You OK?" His eyes suddenly widen in alarm. "Wait. Did you go ask Dean that question from earlier?"

I shake my head hastily. "No, and I was wrong to approach you about it. I hope that it hasn't affected our friendship at all. I didn't really mean to say anything to you on the subject. My impulse control is quite terrible nowadays."

Sam grins and claps me on the shoulder as he moves towards the stove top. "Nah, don't feel bad. I actually think it's great that you're finally addressing it, I just don't think that I should get involved."

I frown. "Finally? What does that-"

"Oh-ho, is someone gonna be cooking something?"

I swing around as Dean enters the kitchen, his eyes lit up with interest as he watches Sam heat oil in a pan. He throws me an easy smile as he moves past but his eyes flicker away very quickly and I wonder if, like me, he's still thinking about earlier on. My mind keeps replaying the image of Dean kneeling before me and it tugs low in my stomach every time, the picture refusing to leave me alone. Now that he's in front of me I can't keep my eyes off of him.

"Cas still hasn't tried bacon," Sam is telling his brother. I focus on the conversation with difficulty. Dean makes a jokingly shocked noise and makes some hyperbolic remark about sacrilege, at which I roll my eyes. Sam continues. "Besides, I said yesterday that we'd do a cooked breakfast today. Although it's gone ten, so I guess it's brunch instead. Think you could heat up some beans? And maybe do some mushrooms... you know, the garlic ones you put on burgers?"

Dean nods and I watch him move around the kitchen with practiced ease, wielding saucepans and utensils as casually as he does weapons. I sit back on the edge of the table, not really thinking about anything, just enjoying all three of us being together. The encounter with Ezekiel is shoved firmly into the back of my mind, as is the obvious and unsettling knowledge that it's actually four of us. Dean starts chopping mushrooms and I walk across to the counter to stand beside him, close by his elbow.

"May I help?" I ask softly. Dean doesn't look at me but pauses what he's doing, eyes flicking sideways. He nods, laying down the knife and walking quickly away. I sigh and begin to slice the mushrooms thinly, being careful and slow with my movements. My mind wanders as I work and I think about the odd, cryptic instructions Dean gave me about not going 'off the rails', which I'm fairly sure is an expression and not actually to do with trains. He seemed worried that I would not cope with being human. He told me that he would help me. But if he's so concerned and eager to support my wellbeing, why is he avoiding me now? I finish chopping the mushrooms and stare blankly at them. It seems that being human does not provide one with a complete, or even halfway complete, understanding of human behaviour.

A delicious combination of scents hits my nose at that very moment and I'm immediately distracted, looking up to locate its source. Dean is stirring a pot on the stove, chuckling as Sam says something about Kevin. Sam himself is tending to eggs and bacon, which are cooking in a pan in front of him. I pick up the board full of sliced mushroom and drift towards them, the smell filling my nostrils and making me salivate in a way which annoys me, but the message from my body is clear: I want to eat whatever it is that's emitting that aroma.

Dean glances around Sam's back at me and he raises his eyebrows, amused. "You OK there, man? You look kinda dreamy."

Sam snorts and Dean snaps his mouth shut, scowling and turning abruptly back to the stove. "Not what I meant, douchebag."

Sam shakes his head, grinning as he flips the bacon. "Sure, sure."

I'm confused but I decide to ignore the parts of the exchange that I don't understand, as has been my strategy since meeting the Winchesters. I hand the chopping board to Sam and he scrapes the contents into the waiting pot in front of Dean, who's already placed a range of ingredients into it. I reply belatedly to Dean's question as I watch him stir the mushrooms around.

"I'm fine, Dean. I wasn't dreaming. I was wondering what that smell is. The very appealing one."

"Well, I don't know," Sam replies, but the mirth in his voice is obvious and I prepare myself for more humourous commentary that I won't comprehend. "Dean, anything in here that you find appealing?"

"Sure as hell ain't your smartass self," Dean snaps, eyes fixed on the bubbling pot of beans at the back of the stovetop. Sam sniggers and turns to me.

"The smell is probably the bacon," Sam explains. "It tastes pretty great too. Oh look! You're not the only one who's noticed. Hey, Kevin. How was your trip?"

I turn to see the young prophet hovering in the doorway, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets. He flashes the ghost of a smile at Sam, shrugging. "It was alright. Good to get away. Glad to be back right now, though. I'm starving."

Sam asks me to grab some plates and cutlery so I do so, laying them neatly on the table like I've seen it done in restaurants. Kevin pours himself a glass of juice and sits down heavily in a chair, peering up at me as he takes a sip.

"So, Castiel. I see you got a clean shirt."

I nod, smiling as I sit down too. "Dean and Sam took me shopping yesterday."

"Cool," he says disinterestedly. I stare at him and wonder why people make statements or ask questions when they have zero interest in the response. It's an odd human trait. Sam and Dean serve out the finished food to everyone and lay the empty pots and pans in the sink before sitting down to eat. I pick up my knife and fork and carefully spear a piece of mushroom. I smile as I chew it, not surprised that it tastes amazing. Dean cooked it, after all.

Next I try bacon, but to my dismay I find it too salty to really enjoy. It smelled better than it tastes, to me at least. Sam and Dean both look flabbergasted when I relay this to them, although Dean appears mollified when I mention that I much preferred the mushrooms. I enjoy the egg and beans well enough and before long, all four of us at the table have cleared our plates and are leaning back with contented sighs. I thank Sam and Dean for the meal and Kevin murmurs agreement before taking his plate to the sink and beginning to wash it. I stare at Dean, who is ensconced in a lazy debate with Sam about how best to cook eggs. He's leaning forward on folded arms, sleeves rolled up and plate pushed away in front of him. He looks relaxed and soft-edged, nothing like the grim and harrowed man I've often stood beside in a fight or battled against in an argument.

Dean's eyes meet mine and he smiles at me before pushing back from the table and grabbing both his and Sam's plates and cutlery, giving one last parting statement about yolks being an integral part of the egg experience. Sam snorts as he too stands, telling me to join him in the library later so that we can start researching the after effects of Metatron's spell.

I agree, hiding my feelings of dismay and guilt. I've been so selfishly, obsessively focused on my new human emotions - mostly how they pertain to Dean - that I actually almost forgot about all of my brothers and sisters, stumbling around out there in this harsh world. I have a duty to help them, not to just sit in the bunker and mope over the same man who's been occupying my thoughts since I met him. But then again, it's not just Dean that's had me distracted from the bigger picture. Becoming human has been a whirlwind for me; surely I'm entitled to taking a few days to recover? Surely that's not so bad of me.

Leaving the table, I sigh as I carry my plate to the sink and wait for Dean to finish washing his own. I talk so much more inside my own head now that I'm human, a buzz of constant internal dialogue, observing and pondering and debating and apparently, reassuring myself that I'm always in the right. No wonder humans are often so morally unsure. They seem to have an innate need to emotionally manipulate themselves, as well as those around them.

Dean takes my plate and cutlery out of my hands and I jump, having been lost in thought. He smirks at me, raising one eyebrow, and I smile back apologetically, although the expression turns grateful as he proceeds to wash my dish for me.

"Thank you."

Dean places the cleaned items on the draining board rack and turns back to me, wiping his hands on his jeans. He winks and my stomach flutters.

"No problem, Dreamy."

With the kind of grin that always stopped me in my tracks even when we first met and I was supposedly immune to human charms, Dean sweeps past me and leaves the room. I stand stupidly for a minute or so, wondering at all the mysterious physical reactions Dean is able to trigger in me now, just by doing something as simple as smiling. One thing has never been clearer.

Dean Winchester is a dangerous man.


	11. Chapter 11

**Oh my Chuck (yay it's canon now), I am so busy right now with uni stuff so I might be uploading a little slower than usual. Don't worry, this fic is still very much on my mind and I'm still working on it! Oh wow, next time I upload 11x21 will have aired and I have high hopes for muchos gay to occur in this ep.  
** **This chapter explores the idea of jealous!Cas which tbh I don't think he'd actually be very possessive or anything because I see his love for Dean as very selfless, but I figured that as a human he might succumb to baser and more selfish feelings. In canon I firmly believe that Cas would quite happily stand by and watch Dean settle down with someone else if he believed that it was best for Dean.  
** **I did a little shout-out to a certain campaign which I'm sure you'll spot ;) Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

* * *

I end up spending the majority of my day with Sam and Kevin in the library, researching angels who have become human and discussing possible scenarios involving my fallen brethren which could prove problematic. Sam calls the Winchesters' friend Charlie and I listen confusedly to his half of a conversation which seems to revolve around computer technology and how it could be applied to detecting algorithms and patterns of events, which in turn could be related to locating rogue fallen angels. I find a book of poetry and peruse it whilst he babbles into the phone, wondering vaguely whether Charlie knows much about me. Dean and Sam have both mentioned her more than once.

My mind drifts and I realise that I've read the same line of prose over and over as I ponder what Charlie looks like. I'm not sure why I'm so curious, except that the more I think about it the more I can recall Dean in particular, speaking of the young woman with rare fondness. An odd discomfort, almost a fear, jolts in my gut and I listen hard to the faint sound of her voice coming from Sam's phone. She sounds cheerful and intelligent. I'm not sure why that makes me frown, but it does.

Snapping the book shut, I mutter to Sam and Kevin that I'm going for a coffee. I make myself the drink listlessly, wondering for the tenth time what Dean might be up to. I have no idea what he's been occupied with all day. I add three sugars before remembering that sugar is bad for teeth and my odd, upset mood increases as I think about reducing the amount I put in my coffee if I want to maintain good dental health. Being human is so irritating in these small ways. Leaning against the counter, I sip the hot, sweet liquid and recall the sting as it splashed onto my chest earlier. Pain is different now that I'm mortal. It's less nuanced but far fiercer and seems to take up my whole attention, where as an angel I was able to compartmentalise, use the pain as the monitoring system it was designed for rather than just breaking down under the weight of it. Pleasure seems to be similar. I never brought myself to completion as an angel but the brief moments of sexuality I did experience were far less all-consuming and far more distanced from me than what I did this morning in my bed.

Thinking of Dean.

I tip my head back and sigh loudly, feeling disgruntled and distracted. I want to know where he is, not because I have a particular interest in his daily activities or because I'm worried about him. I just want to be around him. I felt this pull as an angel but it was so easy to ignore then, easy to only give in to it when I had a practical reason to station myself near Dean. Now I feel needy and deprived after just a few hours of not seeing him and it makes me clench my teeth in anger. Is this part of humanity too? This pathetic craving for the company of a person, even when said person wouldn't welcome my presence? It's idiotic and infuriating.

Swallowing down the last of my coffee, I slam the mug down on the draining board so hard that I'm instantly worried that I've damaged it. Examining it, I see that it's unharmed and this only annoys me further. I'm so weak as a human. That same movement made in unchecked anger before the fall would have obliterated the mug into tiny shards and probably dented the metal of the draining board too. Shoving the offending object away, I turn back around with a huff and cross my arms, digging my fingers painfully into my ribs. I think back to Charlie, suspicion prickling across my skin.

Is there some sort of romantic connection between Dean and the mysterious girl he so often mentions with warmth in his eyes? I may have decided this morning that Dean might not necessarily be exclusively attracted to women, but even my twisted human logic can't convince me that females aren't his preference. I think about what I know of Charlie. She's young but definitely an adult, she's very smart, she makes Dean laugh. She's tough and resourceful and she impresses him; that much is clear from the snatches of stories I've been told about Charlie's adventures with the Winchesters. I've never heard Sam or Dean mention any kind of romantic interest in her life, so she could well be unattached. As is Dean, much as my entire being yearns to make it otherwise.

I feel a furious despair settle upon me as I think about how very easy and unsurprising it would be for Dean and Charlie to begin some sort of romantic or sexual relationship. Maybe they're already having one, secretly. Maybe Dean has fallen for her the way he fell for Lisa, the way I fell for him...

"Cas?"

I look up, startled. Dean is standing in the kitchen doorway, peering at me in obvious concern. I realise that I was probably glaring at the floor as though I wanted to attack it with a power tool and I force my features into a faint smile, dropping my tense arms to my sides.

"Hello, Dean. Sorry, I was thinking."

"Yeah, I hope it wasn't about me. You looked pretty murderous there."

I snort under my breath. Of course I was thinking about Dean. I'm a one-track horse, or whatever the strange human expression is.

"No, not about you." At least I can still lie as a human, when the need arises. "I was thinking about... about Metatron."

My frown reappears as the lie becomes reality and I ponder the impossibly smug little bastard who stole my grace and screwed up Heaven. Not that I can really cast that particular stone, but still. Dean's expression reflects my loathing and he nods, crossing to the fridge.

"Yeah, that'd do it. What a fucking dick."

I smile at him, slipping my hands into my pockets as I relax against the counter. "Even more of a dick than Dick, huh?"

Dean glances up as he grabs a beer, eyes twinkling and grin approving. "Maybe. I'll have to think on that one. Let you know."

I nod, happiness bubbling inside me despite the irritating subject matter of our conversation. This is what I've been missing all day, the feeling of mingled safety and excitement that I only ever get around Dean. It's like the afterglow of rebelling for him never faded and every time I look at him I'm struck anew with the rightness of that decision, how every wrong thing I've ever done shrinks in comparison with knowing that I saved Dean Winchester. I just feel so positive around him, so sure that all will be well as long as he keeps smiling at me.

"Hey, listen, Cas. I should probably tell you that we're going away tomorrow, for a few days, Sam and me."

I blink at him, feeling as though he's spilled coffee all over my giddy joy as well as that damn shirt earlier. "What?"

Dean takes a swig of beer and shuts the fridge, leaning against it and eyeing me uncomfortably. "Just for a few days. Two nights, I reckon. Visiting Charlie."

My stomach drops. Of course. Of fucking course. "Charlie."

Dean nods, oblivious to the flat bitterness in my tone. "Yeah, Charlie Bradbury, you know? I've mentioned her a few times."

"Yes, you have."

"Yeah. Well, Sam just got off the phone with her. Turns out she just got kicked out of her house share. She seems kinda upset, although typical Charlie, she tried not to let on. Anyway, Sam suggested that we ought to go see her. She's in a motel, all alone, you know? Thought we'd be good pals and go eat pizza and stuff, maybe try to help her find a new place."

My churlishness fades somewhat at the image he's building in my head. I know how it feels to be cast out and alone. Suddenly ashamed of my own lack of charity and empathy, I nod and muster up a smile.

"That's a nice idea, Dean. So you and Sam are going for just a short visit?"

Dean nods, glancing at the doorway before replying. "Yep. I mean, I couldn't let Sam go by himself. Not with things the way they are."

I frown confusedly. "You were going to let Sam go alone otherwise?"

Dean stares at me for a moment, grip tight on his beer bottle. "Yeah, well, it means leaving you here, which I obviously don't want to do."

I gaze back at him, feeling a little of that warmth building back up in my chest. Dean glances away, swigging more beer and hastening to qualify his statement. "I mean, 'cause you're still finding your feet. As a human. But hey, Kevin'll be here if you need anything, OK?"

"OK," I agree quietly, my mind fixated on the fact that Dean would rather have stayed with me. Am I being narcissistic to interpret that as the possibility of Dean caring more about me than Charlie? Charlie, who seems so damn perfect when he talks about her? I clear my throat, wondering if it might be stupid of me to prod the issue. I do so anyway, as has become the norm for me since falling.

"Dean, you've never said exactly what your relationship with Charlie is."

He blinks, green eyes blank. "Huh?"

I swallow nervously but plough ahead. "I mean, you do mention her a lot, and she sounds... she sounds really great. I was curious as to whether you admire her in a romantic way."

My voice is quite steady considering how hard my heart is thumping. Dean eyes me suspiciously but when he realises that I'm serious, his expression transforms and he breaks into laughter, leaning one hand on the counter and almost spilling his beer.

"Oh Jesus, Cas," he wheezes, and my brow furrows in annoyance, impatient to know what is so funny. Dean calms down after a few seconds, eyes crinkled in amusement as he chuckles his way to coherence. Eventually, he gets there. "Charlie is awesome, and yeah, kinda cute, although not really my type. But no. Nothing but friendship there. See, Charlie - oh wow, ha - Charlie is a lesbian."

Dean snorts into more laughter, but my irritation has been replaced by chagrin and trickling relief. I smile sheepishly as Dean grins at me from behind his beer, having regained his composure once more.

"I see," I mumble, feeling my cheeks flush slightly. "Well, I didn't know that."

"Obviously," Dean chortles, but my mind is already ticking over with this new information. I know all too well that someone's sexual preference doesn't make them any more or less attractive, so Charlie being a lesbian in itself wouldn't rule out Dean having feelings for her. But his genuine and carefree amusement at the idea seems to do so, which makes me feel much better, if a little ridiculous. However, the fact that Dean is so close and so affectionate towards an openly homosexual person is interesting in other ways.

"That doesn't bother you? Her being gay?"

I ask the question bluntly and wince internally as it visibly makes Dean catch his breath, the laughter dying from his eyes. He stares at me, an odd fear replacing the mirth. He gulps before replying.

"Does it bother you?"

My eyes widen as I realise that he's interpreted my question as disapproval for homosexuality, which is literally the exact opposite of what I want to convey to him on the matter. I rush to correct him, stepping forward, my voice urgent. "No! No, Dean, no, I have no problem with same sex relations. At all. I am indifferent to sexual orientation. I just thought..."

Dean frowns at me, his shoulders relaxing but his mouth twisting a little. "You thought I did have a problem with it."

My mouth works but no sound comes out, because I can't truthfully deny his accusation. Dean nods, his eyes and tone bitter. "You think I'm some kind of redneck who can't grasp the idea of fucking treating people like they're people."

"What? No-"

"You think," Dean says loudly, sounding more upset now. "That I don't believe in that sort of stuff being real, or right or whatever. You, of all people, Cas?"

His eyes bore into mine and I swallow, slightly confused by his emphasis on my own relevance. I shake my head rapidly, shrinking back from him, my eyes large and pleading. "Of course I don't think that of you, Dean. You are kind and open and intelligent. It's the world you move in which tends to be a little narrow, so I wouldn't have blamed you for having views to reflect that. I'm glad you don't. I should have known that you wouldn't. I'm sorry."

Dean looms over me for a moment longer before seeming to deflate all at once, his expression tired and hurt. "It's fine."

"Dean-"

"I said it's fine, Cas. I get it." His tone is gentle and he squeezes my shoulder before stepping back and drinking some more of his beer. Sighing, I watch him regretfully. He's going away, for at least two whole days and nights, and I've managed to leave him with the impression that I think he's an ignorant bigot. Fantastic.

"Anyway," Dean says quietly after the awkward silence has ticked by for several seconds. "What I wanted to tell you was that I don't want you feeling like you're all on your own here, even with Kevin around. If something bothers or confuses you or whatever, you call me or Sam. Got it? That goes for, um, nightmares too. I don't care what time it is. Call me. You are not alone, OK?"

Affection swells within me and I break into a beaming smile, watching Dean blush as I regard him warmly. He is so beautiful.

"OK, Dean."


	12. Chapter 12

**Hallooo! Enjoy some more of Dean's frustrating indecisiveness and Cas's self-deprecating cluelessness.  
** **How unsatisfying was 11x21? I wanted to punch my screen at the end. Jesus, Bucklemming, you were doing so well too, what with 11x18. Hopefully 11x22 will provide everything that 11x21 failed so spectacularly at, although I'm starting to dread the strong possibility of the writers ignoring everything they said in the last several eps about Cas being Dean's top priority. Nooooo plz no.  
** **Reviews are all that is good in the world :)**

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Dean and Kevin are in charge of dinner that night, making a stir fry. They cook an enormous amount, two large pans of it, as well as a gigantic pot of rice. I know without asking that there will be enough leftovers to feed both myself and Kevin whilst the brothers are visiting Charlie, and I'm grateful that I won't have to navigate cooking by myself. Dean delegates various chopping duties to Sam and me whilst he cooks off chicken and Kevin argues with his mother over the phone as to how much sesame oil to add. Finally, he shouts goodbye and hangs up, breathing deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I fucking hate cooking," he grumbles as he spoons different pastes and powders onto the cooked meat and gestures for the onions, mushrooms, carrot and beansprouts to be added. Dean smirks but says nothing as he stirs the food patiently and I sniff the air in interest. I haven't tried Asian food before.

After very little time, the stir fry is pronounced ready and Sam drains the rice whilst I set the table again. It's delicious and I direct my compliments to Kevin, hoping to lift the frown from his face. He murmurs thanks but barely looks up from the translation notes he's brought to dinner with him. I grimace internally at the thought of spending the next two days alone with him. Kevin is a good person and a valuable ally, but not exactly cheerful company. Then again, neither am I most of the time.

We watch another film, but this time it's in a different room. It turns out that Dean was absent all day because he was buying furniture and a television and setting up a lounge room, with two comfortable sofas and a bar fridge for beer. Sam and Kevin seem as surprised as I am when Dean leads us there and he looks extremely pleased with himself. It's very endearing.

"Dude, what made you do this?" Sam asks, running a hand across the top of the small but modern TV. Dean shrugs.

"We got a whole family unit going on now, and we should have a place to just relax together. You especially, Kevin. Jesus, you need to drink more beers and watch more movies."

Kevin scowls at him but there's warmth in his eyes, and he flops down onto a sofa with an approving hum. Dean glances at me.

"You like it?" he asks, sounding oddly anxious. I cock my head at him, wondering why he's bothered about my opinion. He didn't do this for me, after all; he just stated that it was for everyone.

"Of course I like it," I shrug. "You and Sam are always saying that I need to watch more films. This is perfect for that."

Dean grins, nodding happily. "Right! And we're going to continue your education right now. Sammy, what are you thinking? 'Alien' or 'Terminator'?"

Sam is watching his brother with a faint smile on his face, which widens as he considers the question. "I dunno, Dean, you don't want to start with some nice Disney?"

"Watch it, or you're getting kicked out of the den."

"The den? Really?"

I tune their bickering out as I sink down onto the other sofa, drawing my legs up and sitting cross-legged. Dean called us a family unit, and he's gone and created a shared space for us all to spend time in. I watch him fondly, realising how important this sort of thing is to him. I wish for a moment that things had turned out differently for him and Lisa and Ben, even if it would mean the loss of any chance at spending a lifetime with him. Dean deserves to be happy, and if that happiness doesn't involve me then it's still something that I want for him.

I'm pulled out of my reverie by the screen lighting up; Dean turns the lights off a moment later. Sam has already settled next to Kevin and I see Dean's silhouette hesitate for a few seconds as he realises that the only spot is next to me. Not wanting to make him uncomfortable and feeling a little less desperate than the last movie night, I shift up to one end of the sofa, leaving him plenty of room. Sam complains that Dean is blocking the TV and a moment later Dean is sat directly in the middle of the sofa, his thigh brushing against my knee as he leans back into the cushions. I glance around him at the person-sized space left on his other side, confused as to who he thinks is going to sit there. Worried about invading his space, I carefully slide out of my cross-legged position, placing both feet on the floor and creating a good few inches of air between myself and Dean.

He stiffens up and then relaxes. I can feel him glancing at me but I ignore it, determined not to be weird and selfish and demanding like last time. Dean went to a lot of effort to create this space and he should enjoy it untroubled. I concentrate on the film instead.

It's barely ten minutes later when, after fidgeting regularly on the spot, Dean casually slings an arm across the back of the sofa, his wrist brushing against my hair. I hold my breath, mind whirring, but then I scold myself immediately. I'm overthinking this. Whether Dean has any non-platonic interest in me or not, he can damn well put his arm on his own sofa without me going into silent hysterics over it. Inhaling slowly and smoothly, I keep my eyes calm and fixed on the screen, trying to follow the plot. I can't actually remember which film we chose; which one had killer robots? It's mildly entertaining, either way.

I'm just managing to actually become somewhat invested in the fate of Sarah Connor when Dean shifts again. He brings his arm up to scratch the back of his head and then resettles it behind me, this time with his warm hand resting on my shoulder, just barely but enough to make me twitch. My hands clasp each other involuntarily tighter on my lap and I blink rapidly at the screen, unable to look sideways even though I'm fairly certain that Dean is watching me. What does he want? Is he trying to provoke some kind of reaction? Or am I imagining that I can feel his gaze? Is he totally absorbed in the movie and doesn't even register that he's touching me? I'm determined not to find out and my gaze doesn't deviate from the TV, trained there as though my life depends upon the outcome of Kyle Reese's desperate mission.

Dean doesn't move again, seemingly content to sit with one arm draped behind me, his fingers occasionally moving against my shoulder in a motion which is not quite stroking but always makes me shiver slightly. By the end of the film I've relaxed, letting my head loll back against Dean's arm and bringing one ankle up to rest on my opposite knee. The credits roll and even as I go to stretch and turn a sleepy smile onto Dean, he withdraws his arm and springs off of the sofa.

"Next one?" he asks, looking more at Sam and Kevin than at me. I've frozen mid-stretch, feeling a little startled at his sudden movement. Kevin shakes his head and gets up from the sofa, yawning.

"Nah, sorry. Early night for me. Sleeping a lot helps my brain to process stuff."

"Nerd," replies Dean good-naturedly, ruffling the young man's silky dark hair as he leaves. Kevin makes a noise like an annoyed cat and ducks out of the room. Turning to Sam expectantly, Dean's face falls as he sees that his younger brother is also getting up to go.

"Sorry, Dean, my eyes are kinda tired. Might go listen to music for a bit. You and Cas enjoy, though."

Sam shoots me the briefest of raised eyebrows and I frown at him, wondering what he's trying to communicate.

"Oh, come on..." Dean's protests fade as Sam shrugs and leaves the room, calling back over his shoulder that he wants to be on the road by nine the next morning. There's a beat of silence before Dean turns back to look at me, sighing heavily.

"Well, I guess it's just you and me," he says a little too loudly. I tilt my head at him, pleased but a little cautious at the prospect. Dean stares at me for several long seconds and I smile encouragingly, blinking up at him. He inhales sharply.

"Lucky, I guess. We get a sofa each now, huh?"

My brows draw together in confusion as Dean puts the next film on, but understanding clicks into place - rapidly followed by more confusion and undeniable disappointment - when Dean throws himself onto the other sofa, folding his arms behind his head. I stare across at him, utterly unimpressed, but he keeps his eyes trained on the TV. I guess the roles have been reversed here. Rolling my eyes resignedly, I swing my own legs up onto the sofa, trying to play off the slight hurt in my own head. I'm used to this by now, Dean always inching closer only to pull away and re-establish the distance. It's a constant rhythm in our friendship, the ebb and flow that I never really questioned much as a angel. Now, though, I'm finding myself more and more interested in disrupting that pattern. I just don't know if I should.

It's far easier to get drawn into the film without Dean distracting me, and I barely even look at him for the whole thing. My eyes are aching a little by the end and I yawn hugely as Dean gets up to turn the lights back on. He chuckles.

"Time for bed, I reckon. You, uh... you know what to do if you have any troubles?"

I smile tiredly at him as I unfold myself from the sofa, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah. Thank you, Dean. You've been so kind to me."

Dean blinks and then frowns. "Ain't about being kind, Cas. You're family."

My smile broadens and on impulse, with no ulterior motive whatsoever, I step forward and slip my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his shoulder. It's possibly the first time ever that I've initiated a hug purely on natural instinct and I sigh blissfully at how very right it feels to express myself this way, how warm and solid Dean is in my arms, how pleasant and familiar he smells. He shaved this morning.

Dean makes the oddest muffled noise and takes a moment to respond, but as his hands come up to pat my back I hear and feel his surprised chuckle into my hair.

"Huh, OK. Guess I should use the 'f' word more often."

I laugh too, squeezing him a little tighter before reluctantly letting go. "I must admit, hugging is really nice. I don't know why I was so physically removed as an angel."

I'm still standing very close to Dean as I speak, eyes lifted the inch it takes to meet his. I'm watching him minutely, noting the visible dilation of pupils and the way his freckles show faintly on his skin. He swallows, hands sliding down my back and around my waist before finally dropping away. My skin tingles in their wake.

"Yeah," he manages slightly hoarsely after a pause. "Yeah, it's nice."

He licks his lips quickly and of course I end up staring at them, my calm slowly tumbling away as my heart rate picks up. Shit, I want to kiss him. Maybe I should. I could play it off as confusion about human displays of affection if he doesn't want me to after all? But that's manipulative and dishonest. I know full well what the difference is between a hug and a kiss. I sway a little closer, staring shamelessly down at Dean's mouth, simultaneously trying to talk myself into and out of pressing my own lips to it.

"Uh, Cas?"

My eyes snap back up and Dean looks terrified. I sigh in defeat. It's insane for me to think that he'd welcome me kissing him right now. I need to stop letting my own feelings get in the way of logical thinking. I'm probably creeping him out with my closeness and my wandering eyes. Stepping back, I give him a polite smile.

"Sorry, Dean. I'm just tired. I'm going to bed now. I might not see you in the morning, but please call or text me when you arrive."

Dean blinks. "What?"

"When you reach Charlie. I'd like to know that you and Sam are safe."

Dean blinks again, staring at me as though I'm speaking a different language. Slowly, a frown settles onto his face and he looks down at the floor, annoyance poorly hidden in his eyes. I'm filled with confusion, but at this point a lack of confusion would be confusing in itself.

"Yep, fine," Dean mutters. He shrugs, seemingly to himself, and then gestures towards the door. "You go ahead, get some sleep. I might stay here for a bit."

I hesitate, but Dean doesn't look up. Stepping reluctantly past him, I look back from the doorway, seeing that he hasn't moved. "Goodnight, Dean."

He turns his head slightly. "'Night, Cas. See you in a couple days."

My mouth twists at the thought as I make my way up the hall towards my bedroom, but part of me thinks that maybe it might be a good idea to have some time to adjust to humanity without Dean taking up my every thought. And it's only a few days, after all.

That night, my nightmares consist of every time I've ever missed Dean in my life. It's depressing how often that's been. I wake up in the early hours of the morning, curled up and trembling but thankfully not crying this time. Staring unseeingly towards the ceiling, I reflect glumly that two days is really nothing compared to the year I spent watching Dean build a family with Lisa and Ben, or the months I tried to block out his prayers in Purgatory, or every campaign and crusade I went on in Heaven wishing that I was by his side instead.

Two days might be nothing, but I'm still dreading every second.


	13. Chapter 13

**OK, sorry about the longer wait but I did warn you!  
** **This chapter is pretty damn adorable if I do say so myself. Cute texting is something I abhor in my own life but I still enjoy when others do it. Hopefully reading this will make you feel better after the garbage that was 11x22. Man, it's been a while since I've been this deeply unimpressed with the writing on SPN. Did anyone else feel like their life would be better right now if they'd never wasted time watching 11x22? Ugh. Anyway. Anyone who's read my fic 'Christmas at the bunker' might recognise one of the photos in here!  
** **Sorry if I'm being slow or disjointed about replying to you guys, the site keeps screwing up and not showing me reviews :( Keep leaving them though! I'll get them eventually.**

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The first day is mostly very boring.

I get up only after I'm sure Sam and Dean have left, not wanting to feel pathetic and sad watching them go. It's ten o'clock before I've gotten dressed and entered the kitchen. I make myself coffee and PB&J on toast, meticulously washing the knife between each condiment. I take my breakfast into the library, greeting Kevin in a bright voice, asking what he's researching. He answers in monosyllables, barely looking up. I give up on conversation fairly fast and munch my toast in silence, gaze wandering around the room.

I read. I read book after book, skipping some parts and lingering on others, giving up on every few titles but persevering with most of them. At some point Kevin leaves the room and comes back with a bowl of reheated stir fry, placing it wordlessly in front of me. I thank him with some surprise and check the time only to see that it's early afternoon already. I thought the empty feeling in my stomach was just boredom.

After eating, I feel too restless to go back to reading. I gently suggest to Kevin that he should have a break and I wheedle him into going for a walk with me. Huffing dramatically, he eventually slams his book shut and goes to fetch his jacket. He comes back and sees me waiting expectantly by the stairs, wearing the same outfit as yesterday. He frowns.

"It's not too warm out today, Cas."

I tilt my head at him. "I know that."

He makes an impatient gesture. "You'll be cold. You need a jacket."

"Oh," I say slowly. "I don't think I have one. I don't know what happened to my coat."

Kevin snorts. "Dean didn't give that back to you? Ugh, creep. Didn't he keep it once before too?"

"Yes, but he only did that as a symbol of confidence that I would return. This time it's probably just that he's forgotten to wash it."

The young prophet stares at me for a moment before shaking his head. "Unbelievable. Right, yeah, sure. Well, Dean has more jackets than he needs, he's bound to have left one behind and you guys are the closest in size. Wait a second."

Kevin leaves again and returns a minute later with one of Dean's older jackets. I shrug it on carefully, inhaling the smell and smiling. Kevin makes a vague, inexplicable groaning noise and leads the way up the stairs.

It's cool and grey outside. We walk silently up the road, then silently through the small, quiet town, then silently into the general store. Kevin grabs two colas from the fridge, pays for them and tosses one to me as we leave. I thank him and worry aloud about paying him for mine.

"Nah, don't stress about it," he says easily. "My Mom makes sure I have money and Sam and Dean don't charge rent. You don't have any income."

I ponder these words as we head back towards the bunker, the sun low in the sky through the thin clouds. Perhaps I should get a job now that I'm human. But what, and where? I scuff my shoes against the gravel of the road leading to the bunker and swig back some overly sweet cola, thinking about my limited options. Maybe I could become a full time hunter, like Sam and Dean. I perk up at the idea. It makes sense. I have skills and knowledge which could be useful, although my last attempt at hunting wasn't too encouraging. As Kevin and I descend the stairs into the bunker, I take Dean's jacket off with a moment of reluctance and hold it out to the boy. He shakes his head, already moving back into the library.

"You know where Dean's room is. It was on the back of the door."

Well, that's fair enough. I make my way to Dean's bedroom, hesitating before pushing the door open and stepping in. It feels like a slight invasion to be coming in here without permission. I've slept in here, yet I still feel like I barely know the space. Looking around, I can see where Dean has made it his own, decorating it with things that matter to him. A pile of battered photographs litter the top of the chest of drawers and I eye them as I hang the jacket on the back of the door. I shouldn't snoop.

Human impulse control really is awful, though.

Drifting over to the photos, I pick them up and look through, smiling at the first few. Dean was surprisingly blond and almost girlish as a child, really nothing like the imposing man he's grown to be. I wonder sadly what his dreams and childhood joys were before his mother died. There are several photos of him and Sam with matching grins and haircuts at various young ages and one rare picture with John in it, smiling faintly at the camera. He's got Sam up on his shoulders but Dean is standing next to him, no more than eight years old but holding himself like an adult, a shotgun hefted in his arms. There's a black and white shot of Dean as a toddler with Mary. She's beautiful, laughing as she hugs him to her. I can see Dean in her sparkling eyes and easy smile.

I sift through a few more pictures, one of them featuring a teenage Dean leaning against the Impala with a gangly Sam, both looking moody. The old leather jacket looks loose on Dean but the amulet around his neck is familiar, as is his casual slouched pose. The next one is the brothers from several years later, both of them young adults. Sam has a schoolbag slung over one shoulder but he's already taller than Dean, who has an arm around his younger brother and is shouting jokingly at the camera. I chuckle at the accusing way he's pointing at whoever is taking the photo; Bobby, perhaps? I can't imagine Dean mocking his father like that.

More shots of Sam and Dean, almost definitely taken by Bobby as they're nearly all in his house or yard. I stare at the familiar walls and furniture, feeling a sudden pull at my throat and belly. I miss it, although I've never realised it until this moment. I learned so much in that house. I fell in love, or at least realised I already had, in that house. I found my family in that house. I found myself in that house. I think of Bobby for the first time in months and suddenly wish fiercely that he was here in the bunker with us all. I always liked and respected Bobby, and he was truly a father to Dean and Sam.

I'm still blinking back unexpected tears when I get to the next photo, and it almost makes me choke up again. It's from Bobby's again, a sunny day in the yard. The picture is of Sam, Dean and... me. I'm stood in the middle, a rare laugh animating my face as Dean is ruffling my hair. Sam stands on my other side, leaning in, eyes sparkling at the camera but face innocent as he sticks two fingers up behind my head. Dean is looking at me and the affection on his face makes my breath catch for a moment. I remember this. I remember us all being stressed and tense because of fruitless research, and Dean exclaiming that he wasn't going to waste another moment of a nice day stuck inside with books. He grabbed us all beers, even me, and herded us outside. Bobby ducked back in, returned with his old camera and gave us very little warning before snapping the photo. I remember that I was in the middle of cataloguing the different molecules I could taste in the beer when Dean suddenly nudged me and jerked his head towards Bobby with the camera. I glanced at it, already smiling in response to the positive mood filling the air, but the smile turned to a genuine surprised laugh as Dean's fingers tangled in my hair and his deep chuckle filled my ears. I felt truly certain in that moment that I was in the right place with the right people.

My fond smile freezes on my face as I lay that picture aside and see the last one in the pile.

It's me. Just me, and I have no recollection of the photo being taken but I remember when it was. It was when I tried to join Sam and Dean as a hunter, shortly after returning from Purgatory. The photo isn't great quality and that, coupled with the location of it, tells me that Dean must have snapped it on his phone. It was taken in the retirement home where Fred Jones lived. I'm standing near a window, bright sunlight falling through the blinds in golden stripes. The cat I had been 'interrogating' ended up being quite friendly and I'm holding it in the photo, cradling it close to my chest, a soft smile on my face as I peer down at it. The cat looks relaxed and smug in my arms and I look peaceful, one hand scratching carefully behind the animal's ear, my posture protective and calm.

I swallow tightly, my head spinning with shock. I'd never have thought that Dean would take a photo of me in the first place, let alone print out a copy and keep it with him. He must have kept this all through the mess with Naomi, despite his feelings of anger and betrayal. Maybe that's even when he printed it out, when things got bad between us. The photograph is worn and folded and dog-eared and I wonder how many times Dean has looked at it. I close my eyes and press it to my lips, smiling.

"Dude, are you serious right now?"

I whirl around, blood rushing to my face. Kevin is standing in the doorway looking highly amused, two steaming mugs in his hands.

"Kevin," I almost squeak, dropping the photo and then scrambling to pick it up again. The young man rolls his eyes and strolls into the room, setting the mugs down beside the photos on the chest of drawers. I clutch the photo as I straighten back up, feeling unprecedented levels of embarrassment. I never felt this affected by humiliation as an angel. Kevin watches me wryly, sipping from his drink.

"I made you a hot chocolate," he informs me, dark eyes still shining with mirth.

"Oh," I reply stupidly, face still burning. I look at the mug for a moment before reluctantly laying the photo back down and picking up the drink, inhaling the scent. "Thank you. It- it smells great."

Kevin nods, his eyes on the picture I just laid down. "Yeah. Hey, that's a nice shot of you."

I'm not sure what to say so I just shrug. Kevin picks up the photo and examines it, eyebrows raised. He glances at me. "Did you know that Dean had this?"

I shake my head and reply in a mumble: "I didn't even know he'd taken it."

"Huh," is all Kevin says, staring down at the photograph thoughtfully. I take a sip of the hot liquid, barely able to register that it tastes delicious, far better than coffee.

"We should go," I say after a few seconds of silence. Kevin lays the photo down and nods, picking up his own mug. We head back to the library and settle down to do some more reading. After about fifteen minutes my phone buzzes in my pocket and I bring it out to see that Dean has texted me.

 _Got here OK. Charlie says hi. Hope u and Kev r all good._

I smile broadly and relay the text to Kevin, who looks supremely disinterested. I type back, grinning.

 _Thanks! Kevin says hello too, or something that might have been an attempt at such. I hope Charlie is doing well?_

I pause and then add a smiling face emoticon and a thumbs up one too, for good measure. I hit send and wait, tapping my foot against the floor and earning an annoyed look from Kevin. My phone buzzes again quickly.

 _Ha ha I bet he just grunted at u... Little shit. Yep she's fine, we're looking at local ads 4 house shares. Last one didn't work out so well._

I'm smiling way too much considering it's just a simple text exchange, but it's nice to know that I'm speaking to Dean from so many miles away, and I keep thinking about that photograph. I type back as fast as my fingers can manage.

 _You know Kevin too well. What happened with Charlie's last house share?_

I add a laughing face after the comment about Kevin and a novelty animated question mark at the end of the text, flashing in rainbow colours. The reply comes just as quickly as before.

 _Damn straight. Ah not sure, something bout dating her housemate and it went wrong. Dude wtf is that question mark_

My smile falters as I take this new information in and I think uneasily of how often romantic entanglements ruin perfectly good friendships. Banishing this unfortunate piece of wisdom from my mind, I concentrate on typing back.

 _That's a shame. Hopefully the next one works out better for her.  
I understand your confusion about my question mark, Dean, since you seem uninformed as to the use of them in your own texting._

Adding a winking face to make it clear that I'm teasing, I wait in anticipation for the reply. It comes in less than a minute.

 _Yeah hopefully. Oh I see how it is. Look, I can use a question mark too: can u please go screw urself?_

I snort out loud and Kevin sighs pointedly from across the table, but I don't even look up. Dean has used the same winking face as me and it makes me think of him winking at me in real life, the way it makes me blush. Grinning widely, I begin to text back, but I'm interrupted by another message from Dean.

 _Looks like I gotta go, apparently I'm being antisocial (Sam's bringin out the bitch face)... Talk tomorrow yeah? Take care._

My face falls but I hasten to respond.

 _OK. Talk tomorrow. You take care too, Dean, and sleep well._

My thumb hovers recklessly over the love heart emoticon for several seconds before I shake my head and selecting the simple smiling face along with a snoozing face and a crescent moon. Pressing send, I heave a sigh and lean back in my chair.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Kevin mutters from behind his book.


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi lovely people! So sorry this is later than I planned. I'll do my SPN opinion piece after the chapter this time OK? It's super long and I don't want you guys to feel obliged to trawl through it, you should just enjoy the fic. This chapter has more cute texting and sort of grumpy shipper Kevin? Which I kinda adore. I hope you do too! Let me know!**

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After following the dinner and movie routine - Kevin puts on 'A Beautiful Mind', perhaps ironically, and I don't want to admit to myself that I like it better than Dean's taste in films but I do - we have an early night, mumbling goodnight to each other before shuffling off to bed. It's sort of comfortable, being alone with Kevin. I lie in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling and letting my mind drift. I think about the photo Dean has of me and squeeze my eyes shut in a tight grin, wrapping my arms around myself. It doesn't necessarily mean anything, of course, except that Dean cares about me and perhaps misses me when I'm gone. But I already know that. What I keep wondering is, does it mean anything more? I'm more determined than ever to keep on with my gentle experiments and try to find out something conclusive.

Casting my mind around for something else to occupy my brain, I think about the other angels out there and hope fervently that they're all getting by alright. At least they still have some powers and strength, and they can't starve or suffer from the elements. They must be so confused though.

For the first time, I don't have an actual nightmare, just a generally unpleasant dream. In it, I'm a nameless fallen angel, no connections or friends, just drifting through moonlit streets and wishing that I was in Heaven. I wake up in the early morning rather than the middle of the night, feeling well-rested but saddened by my dream. It's probably the reality for most of my kin right now.

I've showered, shaved and brushed my teeth before I hear Kevin emerge from his room. Dean left my washed and dried t shirts outside my room before leaving, so I put on the white one underneath the red and black plaid that Sam picked out. I grab my phone and give it a cursory check as I walk up the hallway, only to stop abruptly. There's a text from Dean, from last night.

 _Goodnight, Cas._

I gape at it, annoyed with myself for missing it. I check the time and see that it was sent within half an hour of my going to bed last night. I must have only just fallen asleep when it came through. Scowling as I enter the library, I mutter good morning to Kevin and then brighten as that gives me an idea. I type out a belated reply to Dean's text.

 _Good morning, Dean._

I add a widely grinning face and a sunrise, along with a songbird and a cup of coffee. It's half past nine, not exactly dawn, but I don't really care about the accuracy of my emoticons. I just enjoy them. Heading into the kitchen, I make two coffees and take one to Kevin, who looks genuinely grateful and gives an unusually sweet smile. My phone buzzes in my pocket at that moment and I whip it out quickly, ignoring the prophet's sardonic look.

 _Mornin sunshine!_

I bite my lip around a pleased grin and Kevin shakes his head, chuckling. "Oh, wow. Sam would be laughing his ass off right now. Or maybe vomiting. You two are just too cute."

I frown down at him, taking an annoyed sip of my own coffee. What is nauseating about texting? I have to agree with him about the cute part, though. Being called 'sunshine' by Dean is very cute and I like it a lot. Wandering back to the kitchen, I grab an apple out of the fruit bowl and begin to eat it slowly, in small bites. I stare at my phone for a few seconds before typing.

 _How is everything?_

I add the sunrise emoticon again, twice, hoping that Dean will correctly interpret it as approval for the nickname. I've returned to the library and sat down before he replies.

 _Yeah not bad. We're gonna look at some places today. U?_

 _I'm not doing very much. Kevin is working hard as usual. I've been reading. We have some interesting books in the library._

 _If by interesting u mean fucked up yep. U seen the one about witch sex rituals?_

 _No. I'll look for it._

 _Don't! Gave me nightmares. Speaking of, hows ur sleeping going? All OK?_

I smile fondly at his concern, even as I ask Kevin about the witch sex rituals book. Kevin grimaces and points to the shelf behind him.

"Red spine, silver lettering. Freaky etching thingy on the front. Ugh, why does Dean want you to- you know what? Never mind."

I shake my head at his rambling, typing a reply to Dean as I walk over to the shelf.

 _Actually fine, I slept well last night. Thank you for asking. I'm looking for the book..._

 _Good. OMG Cas u will regret it, trust me._

 _Will I? It looks really informative, Dean._

 _Ha ha go to chapter 3, that shit is crazy._

Grinning, I flip to the specified chapter, which is on blood letting. I examine the images with interest and read the introduction, which explains that the sexual energy which is apparently very valuable in magic can be intensified by carefully timed cutting and blood-sucking during sexual intercourse, obviously with the right incantations spoken and incense burned. I'm actually so interested that I almost forget to text Dean about it.

 _This is all very vampiric. I didn't realise that witches liked to ingest blood as well as spill it._

 _Yeah well witches r fucked up, I have always said this._

I bite my lip again as I read more of the chapter. If the claims in this book are true, sexual energy can be a really powerful booster ingredient for a lot of spells. I can't help being curious, although I feel oddly flustered as I type the next text to Dean.

 _Have you ever used sex in a spell? It sounds like it could give a considerable edge to a wide range of magic._

I don't add any emoticons to that message, for the first time. Dean takes several minutes to reply and I fiddle with the book, beginning to sweat slightly, jumping when my phone finally buzzes.

 _I tend to think of sex as kinda personal, not part of the job. Sure as hell not banging any witches if I can help it. Why, would u?_

I blink at the message before realising that I read it wrong; Dean is not propositioning me, most unfortunately. I consider the question and reply honestly.

 _Having not had any experience with actually having sex, I don't know if it's personal to me or not. I suppose I would do just about anything to save a life._

 _... Still?_

I frown down at the one word text. Is Dean asking if I'm still a virgin? Surely he knows that I am.

 _Of course. Who would I have had intercourse with?_

 _Um u were married that time? And I figured something happened with Meg._

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Meg liked to flirt with me, but she never once tried to actually progress past flirting until the day she propositioned me using my old pizza metaphor, save one rushed kiss outside Rufus's cabin. I'm still not sure if I'm disappointed or relieved that we never got the chance to follow through on our agreement to have sex. Certainly, I wish that Meg hadn't been killed; I grew very attached to her during my time in the mental facility. I sigh and type back.

 _Daphne and I were not legally married and she had moral issues with taking advantage of me. She was a very pious woman. And whilst Meg and I may have been intending to have sex, it never actually happened._

I add a shrugging emoticon to show that I'm not overly bothered by my virginity. There's another wait of at least two minutes before Dean replies.

 _OK, but still, they're not the only girls in the world. How come u never just went and picked up?_

I roll my lower jaw, mildly annoyed now. Why must Dean always act as though having sex is an integral part of life? Apart from my inappropriate and distracting lust for him, I very rarely even think about sex. If I didn't know and desire Dean, I would probably live my life as celibate and never feel bothered about it. I can't explain that to Dean, though, and for some reason I don't want him to think that I'm entirely asexual.

 _I'm terrible at flirting. You know that. I doubt that I would have any success._

I add an animated emoticon shaking its head. Dean's reply is quick and short.

 _Trust me, u would!_

I tilt my head in interest and type my natural response to his statement.

 _Why?_

There's another pause, as though Dean is thinking more about his reply this time.

 _Come on, u know. Ur attractive and u listen and shit. Chicks would be all over u._

I inhale deeply as I read that text over again, leaning back against the bookshelf. Dean thinks that I'm attractive.

 _Thank you. To be honest I don't really want chicks all over me though._

I meant to imply that I would be more inclined to seek out a serious, monogamous relationship - again, in a world without Dean - but his reply immediately informs me that I've been misunderstood.

 _OK well that's cool too it can be guys if that's what ur into, I ain't gonna judge_

I huff a breath of laughter at the slightly frantic pace of the text message, the nervous energy that comes through just as clearly as if he'd been speaking to me face to face. It's touching that Dean is so ready with his reassurance and besides, he's not overly wrong. I type out my response carefully, trying to be as honest as possible without just admitting that my sexuality revolves around him.

 _Thank you again for your support, but I'm not 'into' anything in particular. I meant more that I don't think I would enjoy propositioning strangers._

 _Ha ha OK sorry. Yeah fair enough, good. I have to go, say hi to Kevin for me OK?_

I sigh, knowing that Dean's probably feeling awkward even though he's done nothing wrong.

 _You have nothing to apologise for. Of course, say hello to Sam and Charlie from us here. Have a good day, Dean._

I end the message with another beaming emoticon, a waving hand and a thumbs up. I wait five minutes but no more texts come through and I return my phone to my pocket with a rueful smile, taking the book back to the table with me.

"Finished sexting?" Kevin asks without looking up from his notes, a smirk in his voice. I furrow my brow, unsure what that word means until I realise that it's a clear portmanteau. Dean and I were discussing sex, so it's quite accurate.

"Yes," I reply calmly, and Kevin looks up at me with something like alarmed shock on his face. "Dean says hello to you, by the way."

"Ew," grimaces Kevin. "Rather you guys kept me out of that shit, thanks."

I frown in confusion. Does Kevin disapprove of texting? Why? Shrugging, I return to the book in my hands, quite interested to learn more about witching traditions and rituals.

Lunch is stir fry again, and even though it's very tasty I'm starting to get a little tired of it. I'm relieved when Kevin voices this opinion out loud, suggesting that we order pizza for dinner. I read for another hour or so before I simply don't want to any more and I snap the book shut, casting around for something to do. It's even colder than yesterday outside, and raining. I like the idea of watching a film but I have no idea what to watch. I think back to what Sam said the night before he and Dean left.

"Kevin," I say tentatively. "Do you want to watch a Disney movie?"

Kevin pauses and then looks up at me slowly. "You've got to be joking."

I shake my head, eyes hopeful. Kevin stares at me for another moment before an unexpected smile steals onto his face.

"Actually," he says, "I'd love to. Have you seen 'The Lion King'?"

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 **I've written about half of a new chapter so rest assured this fic is still going somewhere and still on my mind :)**

 **OK, feel free to just skip this next part if you don't want to read any negativity about destiel or the show in general. Or if you don't want finale spoilers. Or if you don't want to read a damn essay.**

 **The reason I didn't post for a few days is because I was, and still am to some degree, really upset and angry and hurt and disappointed in SPN. I feel like the showrunners sacrifice so much in their haste to make sure they don't actually make one of their main characters queer. They disregard their own plots and characterisation and build-up in the most idiotic and clumsy ways, all in spurious attempts to no-homo things when they realise that yet again, canon destiel is the direction they've taken and is the only logical endgame.**

 **Obviously, I'm furious about the new lows that the writers have sunk to this season in terms of queerbaiting. This season was the first time that I as a viewer felt really convinced that Dean has romantic feelings for Cas. I mean, I was PRETTY sure previously but before the casifer storyline aired I was fairly certain that the best we could hope for in canon, which would fit the characters and make the most sense, would be confirmed unrequited love from Cas with perhaps the hint of Dean returning his feelings in the far-off final episode of the show. Even after Season 8, I still found heterosexual Dean who sees Cas as a brother to be a viably believable stance for the show to take, despite personally believing otherwise.**

 **But Season 11 took destiel out of murky maybes and into the main subtext of the entire plot. There were neon signs telling us that Dean was in love, or would soon be, and was ready to 'settle down' into a real relationship. 'Into the Mystic' had the classic 'wise old person sees that foolish young person is an idiot in love' cliche. At the time, I was moodily convinced that it was about Amara, but as time went on the writers made it super obvious that they weren't trying to play Amara as an actual romantic interest for Dean. 'Hell's Angel' wasn't anywhere near the realm of platonic, especially with the scene at the end when Dean barely even noticed Amara. For what seems like the millionth time in Cas and Dean's relationship, one of them was able to break the spell or emotional shackles binding the other, which is a markedly romantic trope. The tiny scene with Cas in the 'kitchen' had the line about Dean being 'objective', which instantly prompts the audience to think about how very not objective Dean was being at the time. Another classic romantic cliche which I myself have used in this very fic: person A thinks person B can't possibly care but the audience is well aware that person B cares passionately. Sam's line about the 'heart choice' fit the heart theme which centred around Dean being pointedly told to 'follow his heart'. This theme was built upon later in a very literal way when Amara actually followed Cas's heart... to Dean. And what was that, anyway? The show never bothered to explain what the hell was happening there.**

 **This is not even mentioning 'The Chitters', which was basically a target shooting of every ludicrous fear that some audience members might have about mixing queerness and long-term relationships with hunting and masculinity. It felt like a demo for a canon destiel - or wincest, to be fair - prototype. It felt like a 'fuck you' to the haters. It felt like a powerpoint presentation on why Dean could be (IS) in love with a male and still be literally everything he already is, faults and all. Quite apart from all that, it featured Dean undeniably pining for Cas, calling back yet again to the strong hints dropped in 'Into the Mystic'. It was beautiful and it was the proudest I've ever been of SPN. I wish it could have stayed that way.**

 **But in the last two episodes of the season, everything changed. It was unbelievably bad writing; I've never seen such a total lack of continuity in terms of characterisation and emotional build-up. We'd had episode after episode of Sam worrying about Dean worrying about Cas. We'd had Dean freaking out at the mere possibility of Cas being in danger, utterly focused for weeks on freeing him from Lucifer. Yet when we finally did get Cas back Dean suddenly had no interest in expelling Lucifer, was barely concerned about sending Cas into battle against Amara. He didn't ask after Cas's wellbeing, didn't demand to speak to him, didn't act remotely like the person we'd seen fretting a few episodes previously. It was a completely ridiculous about-face and I'm amazed and a little horrified that so few viewers questioned it. How low are our expectations as fans that writers can totally change aspects of a character from episode to episode and we just shrug?**

 **It was such a total severing of the emotional tapestry that the writers had been creating around Dean that in the space of 'We Happy Few' I lost nearly all hope, which is incredible since after 'The Chitters' I was sure that destiel was the only way things could go. By the time the finale rolled around, I felt bleak and my fears were realised as soon as we got to what should have been a touching scene because it was the only time anyone gave a shit about Cas in the whole episode. Obviously the 'brother' line sealed the deal for me. If this wasn't a TV show then sure, Dean saying that utter bullshit would kinda make sense because as we've clearly been shown, he confuses familial love with romantic love (just like Amara does). But this IS a TV show and if Dabb wanted destiel to be canon, ever, the last thing he'd do is brotherzone Cas right when some solid destiel foundations have just been laid. But he did, and I'm sorry but destiel will never be canon. This show has become so unreliable and lacking in integrity that I'm not sure they'd do it justice anyway, but after the build-up in s11 the fact that they're willing to toss it aside like that is slimy as hell.**

 **Queerbaiting is always shitty, but the thing is, I'm queer and I only really admitted it over Christmas. I've been slowly, casually coming out to those around me ever since. I know I'm lucky but I've barely had a bad experience so far and I was so fucking happy and confident, so excited to accept and explore my identity now that I've stopped ignoring and avoiding it in my own head and heart. I didn't know how precious that feeling was because somehow, I've avoided all the pitfalls of being queer in this shitty world. But this finale, the realisation that queerbaiting comes so easily to these showrunners, the fact that they can trample so insensitively all over people's hopes and plaster a no homo over the most obvious of subtext... and that they can get away with it, that they can do this again and again and never feel like they're in the wrong. That following through on what they portray between Dean and Cas is some kind of joke to them, that they can poke the shippers like a circus bear and get a reaction every time. That they would never consider actually showing one of their main characters as queer because somehow that would dirty the show, ruin it for all the 'normal' viewers. It's just so degrading. This is the first time I have ever felt less valid and less visible than those around me. This is a slap across the face telling me that we don't have equality and that there are many who want to keep it that way. This is a small but irreversible taint upon my perception of my place in the world as a queer person. And it's so sad that I feel like this because of SPN, but I can't change that.**

 **And then there's Cas. It took me a long time but I've finally joined the 'I wish the writers would just kill him off for good' crew, because I can't watch them treat him like this any more. Cas came back in the most mundane and disappointing way possible, an irrelevant accident, overlooked and left behind. Dean was the only one who cared. Sam, supposedly like a brother to Cas, barely acknowledged him. Chuck literally didn't notice his presence and nothing was resolved between them, despite Lucifer getting way too much screen time for his Daddy issues, despite all the pain we've watched Cas endure because of Chuck's absence. It feels like Cas came back covered in open wounds and they were bleeding all over the place, but no one around him saw or cared; worse, Cas himself didn't care.**

 **I still can't believe how badly his character has been treated, how the writers have basically just confirmed that they see Cas how he sees himself; expendable and of little consequence. This hurts me personally as a Cas fan but I'm also disgusted with the way the show has handled Cas's mental health issues. He gave himself to Lucifer because he didn't give a shit about his own wellbeing. It was almost suicidal - Jesus, Cas even has a history of suicidal thoughts - yet instead of addressing this, the show has Dean tell Cas that it was a good thing to do. I feel physically sick when I think about what Cas has been reduced to. He offered to die with Dean AGAIN and Dean's resistance had nothing to do with caring for Cas. He said 'this is something I have to do alone'. It's nightmarish. Cas is silently screaming for help, drowning in depression and apathy and hopelessness, and the show has shoved it in our faces and then done absolutely nothing to counterbalance it. How can they promote AKF and YANA when one of their main characters is a walking validation of the feelings of worthlessness and self-hatred that so many SPN fans struggle with? The way Cas was handled this season really, really disturbed me.**

 **I've written so much more than I intended to but I guess it's kinda cathartic to get these feelings out. I don't know if I'll watch S12. I don't want to give this show any more of my time because I think that the showrunners have shown themselves to be morally corrupt and the writers seem to have no limits with how badly they're willing to insult the intelligence of their viewers. The unbelievably inconsistent and haphazard writing lately has made me realise that I'm way better off watching quality BBC shows which assume that the audience is actually paying attention. However, the simple fact is I fucking love Cas and I am quite intrigued by Mary coming back and this Toni character. I'll probably watch it. As for destiel, it's forever and always my OTP and I do think it's quite poetic that the writers, in all their incompetence and accidental brilliance, have written a truly epic love story for the ages whilst trying their level best to keep things as heteronormative as possible. I'll probably keep writing destiel fics, although I can't make any promises. I will definitely finish this one though!**

 **If you read all this then I'm super sorry, but thank you, and I hope you feel more positive about the show right now than me xxx**


	15. Chapter 15

**You get an extra length chapter this time, both because I've slowed down and because I ranted last chapter and y'all were really nice about it. But mostly because I accidentally wrote too much and couldn't be arsed to edit it.  
** **I was so (understandably, I feel) pissed about the finale last chapter that I forgot to write that I totes stole the 'dean calls cas sunshine' thing from one of the best fanfics I've ever read from one of the best authors I've ever encountered. Go check out 'Take me home country roads' by saltyfeathers on AO3 and while you're there, read literally everything else they've written. You won't regret it, especially if, like me, you feel that the SPN writers utterly wasted the potential of the Deanmon arc. But hey, that's kinda their thing. Lol I am even saltier than saltyfeather's feathers. Oops.  
** **I know I've compared Cas and Ariel before in fanfics but it's the SAME STORY OK and it amuses me. Please enjoy this chapter, although I can promise you'll enjoy the next one more... ;)**

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I develop a deep appreciation for Disney movies very quickly. Kevin and I watch two before dinner and then we watch another whilst eating pizza. 'The Lion King' and 'Finding Nemo' are excellent and whilst I enjoy 'The Little Mermaid' too, something about it makes me mildly uncomfortable. Kevin leaves after the third film, saying that he needs to get some more translation done before he goes to bed.

I watch 'The Little Mermaid' again, wondering what it was that was nagging at me the first time. I get up to the reprise of 'Part of Your World' before it hits me. Ariel reminds me of myself. Fascinated by humans but never really considering acting on her private dreams until she rescues a human and becomes enamoured with him, leading to her becoming human too. It's practically identical to my own story. I grimace and turn the film off, not wanting to think about the glaring difference: Ariel and Eric's love was not unrequited. Full of pizza - which is just as delicious as Dean and Sam always claimed - and feeling sleepy, I stretch out on the sofa and gaze at the ceiling, pondering the key differences between angels and merpeople. I'm not even aware that I'm falling asleep before it happens, washing over me just like the ocean...

I dream that I'm Ariel, but also myself. I'm in a drowned version of the bunker, swimming through the underwater rooms, searching for any signs of life. I see Sam and Kevin and Bobby and Meg flitting by, walking as though they're still above the surface, untroubled by the lack of air. Flounder darts ahead of me, a flash of colour in the gloom. Still I search, more and more frantically. Finally, I see him. Dean is not upright and functioning like the others. He floats as though dead, eyes closed, skin white, dressed in Eric's clothes. Swimming faster, I try to call out to him, but only bubbles escape my mouth. As I watch his mouth moves too, and I hear his voice as though he's right next to me.

"Cas."

Straining to reach him, I cry out soundlessly as a hand grabs my shoulder, pulling me back from him, away from him...

"Cas, buddy, wake up!"

I awake with a gasp, scrambling to sit up in the dimly lit room. It takes me a moment to realise that Dean is crouched next to the sofa, peering up at me with sharp, worried eyes. I breathe heavily as I stare at him, blinking confusedly.

"You said you were sleeping better," he reprimands gently, his eyebrows drawing together. His hand has slipped down to my elbow and his thumb rubs circles into my clothed skin, slow and soothing. I blink again, slumping back against the arm of the sofa and not taking my eyes off of him.

"You're back," I murmur. Dean nods.

"Yeah, well, Charlie got lucky and found a place just after lunchtime. Sam and I figured we may as well just head back rather than spend another night away. Why'd you sleep in here?"

I shrug. "I didn't mean to. Kevin and I were watching Disney films."

Dean snorts, dropping his hand from my arm. I wish he'd kept it there. "Kevin likes Disney? Oh, man, I am not gonna let him forget that. Well, Sleeping Beauty, it's one AM so you should probably head to actual bed. So should I, come to think of it."

I stare at him and open my mouth, wanting very badly to suggest that we head to the same bed rather than separate ones. But Dean looks relaxed and soft-eyed and I don't want to cause that awkward, pained look to pass over his face, which it inevitably will if I push him towards anything that he himself hasn't suggested. Nodding tiredly, I watch him stand up and I take the hand he offers me, letting him pull me to my feet. The movement brings us close together and I let my gaze melt into his, not currently able to hide the longing in mine.

"I'm glad you're home," I almost whisper. Dean releases my hand after a pause but his eyes flicker between mine for several seconds before dropping to my mouth. He looks like he wants to kiss me, although I have no way of knowing for sure. There's one obvious way of finding out, and I've never wanted to try it so much. I lean forward, sleepiness making me weak.

"Hey, Dean, d'you find him?"

Sam's voice comes quietly but clearly from the hallway, moving up towards us. I close my eyes and shut my parted lips, frowning. Dean inhales sharply before stepping back from me and I open my eyes to see him moving towards the door.

"Yeah, in here, he fell asleep on the sofa."

"Aww." Sam appears in the doorway, grinning good-naturedly, and I muster up a smile of greeting.

"Hello, Sam. How was your trip?"

Sam yawns hugely before replying, leaning against the doorframe. "Yeah, good. Just want to go to sleep now, though. It's a long drive."

Dean nods in agreement, not looking at me, and I sigh. "Yes. Well, goodnight."

I move past them and I'm almost in the hallway before Dean says my name, very quietly. I turn back with raised eyebrows and he gazes at me for a moment, biting his lip invitingly. I try not to scowl at the sight. It's not fair.

"Goodnight," he mumbles eventually, holding my gaze. I nod, a little impatient, and give a vague wave before I stumble towards my bedroom, too tired to brush my teeth. I pull off my jeans and plaid shirt, laying them on my chair, and slide between the sheets with a sigh. It doesn't take long for me to fall asleep again, and my dreams are muddled and colourful. I don't really remember them when I wake up.

Dean and Sam are eating cereal in the kitchen when I walk in and I smile brightly at them both, feeling rested and alert. Dean frowns grumpily at me and Sam gives a tired chuckle.

"I can see which one of us didn't go on a seven hour drive yesterday," he says teasingly between mouthfuls of granola. I laugh and pour myself a coffee before sitting down at the table with it. I look between the two brothers and my thoughts from while they were away, about becoming a hunter with them, clamour insistently in my mind. I take a deep breath.

"Dean, Sam, I'd like to give hunting another try now that I'm human."

They both pause, glancing at each other meaningfully. Dean gestures at his brother with his spoon before he scoops up some more sugar-dusted cornflakes and shoves them in his mouth, eyes trained on the table. Sam sighs before speaking, his voice soothing.

"That's great, Cas. And we're sure you could get really good at it. But maybe it's too risky right now. Too dangerous."

I narrow my eyes at him before staring suspiciously at Dean, who doesn't meet my gaze.

"Dean?" I ask quietly. "Do you agree?"

Dean glances at me and nods, eyes darting back down to his cornflakes.

"I see," I say flatly. Sam is eyeing me nervously. "So an ex-angel with prior experience and eons of combat training is at too much risk in this otherwise risk-free career path?"

"Cas, you've been human for less than a week," snaps Dean, finally holding my gaze. "You said it yourself the other day. You feel weak and vulnerable. That's not what a hunter needs to be. And besides, every angel out there is probably on red alert looking for you."

"I really doubt it," I argue, carefully not looking at Sam because I just know that Ezekiel is listening to this conversation and feeling extremely vindicated right now. "And I only feel that way relative to how I used to feel. I'm sure I have strength and skill enough to make a reliable hunter."

Dean frowns at me for several seconds before sighing and shaking his head. "Maybe. We'll see. Just not quite yet, OK? Stay safe for a bit longer before you throw yourself into danger. Please?"

I glare at him but the genuine concern in his eyes wins me over. Nodding resentfully, I slump back in my seat and take a gulp of coffee, staring irritably at the table. Sam and Dean quietly eat their cereal for several minutes whilst I think about how I can convince them to let me join them as a hunter. An idea occurs to me but I hesitate, unsure whether I ought to push Dean on this. It can't hurt to try. Clearing my throat as Sam gets up from the table, I speak, making Dean pause in pushing his own chair back.

"Dean, what if you trained me?"

He eyes me suspiciously. "What?"

"You did say before that you want to help me settle into being human, however you can. Well, I'd be very grateful if you'd train me in your profession. Humans have professions, and I'd like mine to be hunting. You could test out my combat skills and occult knowledge and then teach me anything else I need to know. Train me, like Kevin suggested."

My voice is confident. I feel like I remember everything about balance, positioning and defensive maneuvres from my fighting experience as an angel, but my reflexes and strength have changed drastically. So yes, some training would probably be prudent. And although it's only just occurred to me as an afterthought, the idea of spending extended time alone with Dean is just too appealing to pass by. Dean is looking reluctant and I stare pleadingly at him, remembering that it seemed to have some sort of persuasive affect on him during my first night here. He scowls but nods shortly, getting up from the table.

"Fine, fine. I guess we can see what's changed and what you need to work on. I don't know when... maybe before dinner. Meet me in the gym at four, OK? Don't wear your new stuff. I'll chuck some sweats in your room."

I nod eagerly, smiling widely. Dean shakes his head and mutters as he washes his bowl and spoon before leaving the room. I finish my coffee quickly and head into the library, sitting with Sam and trying to stay focused as he explains how to use the system Charlie helped him set up for monitoring possible fallen angel activity. It takes until one in the afternoon to get through everything Sam has to say on the matter and my head is spinning with the magnitude of the problem by the time we gather in the kitchen to finish off the last of the stir fry. I'm more determined than ever to take up hunting; surely it's the best way to ensure that I'll be equipped to deal with any issues I come across concerning my kin. Or at least, my ex-kin.

Dean has been quiet all morning, moving sporadically in and out of the library. After lunch he settles across the table from me and since I'm just reading an old wartime novel, it's easy for my gaze to wander to him, more and more as the afternoon wears on. He looks so damn good, as always, but it never fails to strike me. His bottle-glass eyes flit across the document he's scanning, those sensuous pink lips pursing and then parting as he reads the words silently. The familiar freckles are a barely visible constellation across his nose and cheekbones, the coppery colour a match for his brown hair. I sigh quietly and he instantly looks up, meeting my eyes. I blanch, horrified at being caught, and look back down at my book. I can feel my face heating up. Crap.

He shifts in my peripheral vision and I swallow, trying to keep my expression neutral. I hear him clear his throat quietly and it's as if my skin just won't cool down. I stare blankly at the page I'm on, struggling to make the words form meaning in my head, but I feel on edge. Eventually, I give up.

"I'm going to my room," I mutter as I get up from the table. Sam and Kevin barely spare me a glance each but Dean watches me closely, looking concerned. Again.

"You OK?" he asks gruffly but seriously. I nod, summoning a smile.

"Of course. I'll see you later in the gym."

It's barely three o'clock, and Dean and I haven't scheduled our 'testing' session until four. Still, as soon as I get to my bedroom I start willing the time to go faster, impatient to be moving and active. I eye the clothes Dean threw onto my bed for a solid five minutes, drumming my fingers restlessly against my thigh. Finally, I snap.

Rolling my eyes, I go and brush my teeth, all too aware that close proximity to Dean is guaranteed in combat training. I apply more deodorant too and try to finger-comb my hair into order before giving up on that venture. It's stupid, but that niggling suspicion that Dean harbours an attraction to me is always in the back of my mind and it makes me far more aware of how I might appear to him at any given moment. Stripping off my clothes, I put on the allocated gym outfit. The grey sweatpants are very comfortable, as is the thin white v-neck t shirt. Feeling slightly chilly in the single layer but knowing that I'll soon be warming up, I make my way quickly to the gym.

There are a few large floor mats padding the linoleum in front of the floor-length mirrors on one side of the room. I step onto them, trying to recapture and recreate my old angelic mindset. Inhaling deeply, I fall into a familiar fighting pose, an imaginary angel blade gripped in my right fist. Working partly on instinct and partly from old memories of training exercises, I begin to whirl through various stabbing, crouching, rolling and swiping movements, my motions sharp and aggressive.

It's not the same, yet it's better in some ways. I can feel how slow and weak I am compared to before I lost my grace. However, I can also feel the exertion on my body and how I can push through it. I can feel sweat dampening the nape of my neck and under my arms, heat radiating from my core. I can feel the savage satisfaction that comes with my violent movements, as opposed to the almost apathetic attitude I had whilst fighting as an angel. I can feel the strain and the burn and the ache and what I can only assume is adrenaline, which I never needed before I was human. It feels good. It's a different kind of pleasure, unlike appetising food or pleasant smells or soft material against my skin or sexual gratification. I defeat my tenth imaginary enemy and spin to a halt, chest heaving and perspiration cooling on my temples.

It's a few seconds before I look closely enough at the mirror before me to see that I'm not alone.

I turn abruptly, feeling my skin flush as I stare at Dean. He's stood in the doorway dressed very similarly to me, a bottle of water dangling from one hand. His eyes are wide and he gulps as I meet them, the colour rising in his own face even higher than mine.

"How long have you been there?" I ask uncomfortably, my voice still breathless. It's hypocritical of me to be bothered by Dean watching me without my knowledge. I've done it to him enough times over the years. He drops his gaze to the floor, licking his lips nervously, and I copy the action before I'm aware of doing it.

"Not long," he says after a pause. Green eyes raise slowly back up to mine and he gives a small smile. "Gotta say, Cas, it doesn't look much like you need my help with training."

I frown, knowing that he's right. I might not be as formidable an opponent as I once was, but I could still best most creatures in a fight. Sighing, I run a hand through my hair and nod, eyes drifting to the wall.

"I suppose not. I appear to have retained my superior combat skills, so I guess there's no reason for you to be here..."

Dean snorts. "Hey, did I say I was leaving? And don't act too cocky. You might still be a badass, but I doubt you could take me or Sammy down."

I tilt my head at him, a smile creeping onto my own face at his teasing tone. "You really think so?"

"Oh, I know so."

I'm smirking now. I step towards him, eyebrows raised, and beckon him with one finger. "Let's find out."

Dean's smile freezes and he appears to be holding his breath. He stares at me for a long, silent moment before his eyes narrow and he drops the water bottle onto the floor, striding forward onto the mat. "Fine, but no crying when you lose."

"I promise. Is the winner the first one to keep the other subdued for more than a few seconds?"

Dean nods, stretching his arms out behind him and then upwards. He says something at this point but I'm far too distracted by the way his shirt pulls up, exposing his stomach and hipbones. The sweatpants pull taut across his crotch for a moment, leaving very little to the imagination. I shut my eyes, suddenly feeling like this is a potentially disastrous idea, but it's too late to back out now.

"Ready?"

I open my eyes and Dean has assumed a defensive crouch, both arms raised in front, clearly ready for combat. I try to clear my mind, imagining that I'm an angel again, looking anywhere but into Dean's eyes so that I can picture him as someone or something I'd be willing to attack. I take a deep breath and nod firmly, standing upright with my hands loose at my sides. Dean smirks and lunges forward.

It's fairly easy to evade him the first few times. I adopt a purely defensive strategy, partly because laying a violent hand on Dean is anathema to me - especially after Naomi's torture - and partly because I don't really need to do anything but wait for an opportunity. Dean is quick and strong and fast-thinking, but not overly subtle. He always either misses me entirely or lacks the skill to keep hold of me when he does manage to grip my arm or a handful of shirt. I dodge and twist and duck, almost dancing around him, keeping just behind him or out of his reach. It's fun. I find myself laughing slightly as he makes a triumphant sound when twisting my arm up behind my back and dragging me to him, only to swear as I yank him down and use the momentary release to twirl away again.

He pauses for a moment, panting a little, and I make the mistake of meeting his eyes with a grin on my face. The answering smirk he gives me is nothing short of wicked, and it's my undoing. He darts forward and literally tackles me to the ground, catching me around the waist before I have the presence of mind to react. Dean is a heavy man but it's mostly hitting the floor that winds me, knocking the breath from my lungs with painful force. I'm gasping, eyes closed on impact, as he scrambles up beside me and grabs my wrists, clearly intending to restrain me.

Some kind of fighting instinct finally kicks in and for a moment, I forget it's Dean. Twisting my body up off of the floor, I wrench one hand free and use it to grip Dean's shoulder, dragging him above and across me. He grunts as I slam my knee into his side and use the momentum to roll on top of him, straddling him easily.

I have his wrists pinned above his head in one hand and the other fist raised to strike before I come to my senses, blinking down at the helpless man beneath me.


	16. Chapter 16

**Tad later than I was planning but here it is!  
OK, first thing's first. If any of you knew anyone hurt or killed in the Orlando incident, please know that you have my deepest and sincerest sorrow and sympathy. What happened in that club was an act of pure hatred and it's beyond sick. I know we're probably all really shaken up by it - although unfortunately, shootings in the USA are very much the norm since stricter gun laws are apparently just too much to ask - but please take this as a reminder that we already have more than enough hate in the world and the best way to fight it is to reject hate and choose love.  
** **In this case, homophobia played a big role in what happened. A lot of people out there, people like that shooter, want the queer community to shut up and disappear for totally incomprehensible reasons. So we need to do the opposite. Snog your same sex partners on the train, post those cute couples pictures on facebook, wear clothes and make up that defy gender roles, use whatever fucking bathroom you fit best, eject the haters from your life and be proud and open about who you are (as long as it's safe). Read your queer fanfics! Obviously better representation in the media and better protection in law would be enormously helpful but while we're waiting on that to happen, we can take a stand in our own lives.  
OK, off of my soap box now. Please enjoy this chapter, sinners, which I feel nicely reflects the season 11 motto of 'keep grinding' ;)**

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"Shit..." I breathe, lowering my fist but remaining frozen in place, panting. Dean is too; I can feel the harsh movement of his breath against my thighs and knees, see the way his chest heaves. An apology begins to form on my tongue until I see that Dean doesn't appear at all offended or afraid.

I don't have words for the look on his face, but I recognise it all the same. His eyes glitter up at me and it's just like in the kitchen, when he knelt before me and wordlessly undid my composure with nothing but that look. I lean down towards him, placing my weight on my free hand beside his head, coherent thought fading. His lips part and he thuds his head slightly against the mat in an odd, apparently unconscious twitch of frustration, the movement travelling down his body in a sort of shudder. It reaches his hips and I inhale sharply as he arches them up, closing the few inches to press them against my own.

He's hard. Maybe not fully, but there's no mistaking that firm jut through the thin material of our sweatpants. I know full well that I'm responding in kind, shamefully fast, as though he's issued an order and I've jumped to obey. My gaze flickers hungrily down his body and then up again, meeting eyes which have widened in belated shock. He drops back to the floor, his expression turning from intense to fearful in seconds. Tugging his wrists sharply, he pulls one hand free from my tight grip and wrenches his gaze from mine in the same moment, clearly intending to push me off and escape. Panic blooms in my chest, followed closely by desperation. He can't leave, he clearly wants me, surely he has to stay-

Catching hold of his wrist again with my free hand, I slam it back down to the mat by his other arm and spread my knees apart at the same time, settling my weight onto Dean, intending only to keep him in place for a moment more. Both of us catch our breaths in unison at the contact and I can't think properly, can't quite catch up with what is actually happening long enough to engage some common sense. Instead I rock down and forward on instinct, giving a low groan as my erection presses and rubs against Dean's. His eyes reel back slightly before closing and he hisses through gritted teeth. I bite down hard on my lip to keep my moan quiet as I roll my hips again, eyelids fluttering in pleasure. My gaze stays fixed on the man beneath me, drinking in the flush on his face and the taut lines of his body as he strains to prolong the contact. He gasps out my name and I whimper, repeating the movement hastily. Dean's eyes snap open.

"Cas, stop," he growls. I freeze, breath catching. Dean is glaring up at me, his pupils blown wide and his jaw clenched. I can feel him trembling harshly. "What the fuck are you doing?"

I swallow, terrified that I've read the situation wrong and pushed myself onto Dean against his will. Shit, of course that's what's happened, I'm pinning him down and everything. It seemed like he wanted me though. Surely getting hard is a clear sign of arousal? But physical arousal and personal consent are not the same thing. I know this all too well from all the times I've suppressed my own reactions as an angel, and all the times I've wished I still could as a human. With a growing sense of horror and shame, I release Dean's wrists and shift hastily, bringing us out of close contact although I'm still straddling him, leaning up and forward on trembling hands.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," I whisper in a choked voice. Dean hasn't moved; his hands are still on the mat above his head, although he curled them into tight fists when I let go of them. He drags an unsteady breath in through his nose before replying, his eyes burning with fury.

"You can't just... What the hell makes you think I want that?"

I frown, guilt turning to confusion turning to anger. How can he ask that? How can he place all of the blame for this onto me? I had perfectly valid reasons to think that Dean was attracted to me. Indignant, I answer in a low, sarcastic tone, the hurt hidden behind the bite in my words.

"Oh, I don't know, Dean. Probably the fact that you got an erection as soon as we made prolonged physical contact. Not to mention the one you had in my bed the other morning."

Dean sucks in a breath, eyes popping wide and filling with shock. He shakes his head in pointless denial and I dig my fingers into the mat, leaning closer as rage bubbles up inside me, an anger that I didn't know I possessed until now. Human emotions are so volatile.

"Yes, you fucking did. I know because I felt it. I know because I had one too, which I had to get rid of as soon as you left, and do you know what I thought about while I did that? You. It's always you, Dean Winchester, and that's been fine until now, but as a human? This desire is incredibly frustrating. It's tiring and upsetting and distracting and I am growing sick of it, so please, do not lie there and pretend that you are completely innocent in the matter."

I'm practically snarling at him by the time I finish, inches away from his face. He's utterly still, unblinking as his gaze flickers between my eyes. My scowl fades and I falter, shocked at myself. I certainly didn't intend to let all of that pour out. I didn't even know that I was hurting. A dull ache over Dean Winchester was a constant in my life long before I became a human. I swallow, uncertainty rising in my gut as I stare down into Dean's piercing green eyes, still hovering low over him. He breathes fast and shallow, licking his lips quickly before he speaks:

"You thought about me?"

I frown, my brain not really keeping up. "Yes."

I process his question some more and almost immediately ask one of my own, unsure. "Wait, when?"

An odd flash of something like a smile gleams in Dean's eyes, tender and strong if swiftly masked, and it makes me brave. I lean even closer, searching his gaze.

"Not that it matters," I whisper, feeling vulnerable but very sure that I need to make this clear to him. "I am always thinking of you, Dean."

His throat works as he swallows and he looks caught between scared and elated. I allow my gaze to drift down to his mouth, parted and tempting as always. I'm leaning ludicrously low over him and I bite my lip as I shift to bring us back into lower body contact. We're both still hard. I have no clue what is happening here but it's clearly arousing enough to eclipse what should be awkward and confusing. He catches his breath and when I look back into his eyes, they're pleading.

"What are we, Cas?" he mumbles, flushed and frightened and gorgeous. "What the hell is this?"

I stretch my arms out above his head, heels of my curled hands sliding steadily forward on the mat, a little drunk on the burst of courage that's snuck up on me in the face of Dean's crumbling defences. My abdomen and chest brush down against his and I can't keep the excitement or the desire or the pure worship out of my eyes as I hold Dean's captivated gaze from centimetres away. I feel reckless and impatient and very, very human.

"Everything," I murmur, the word a promise breathed against lips which a moment later, I finally claim with my own.

My eyes drift closed as I press down gently, fascinated by how soft yet firm Dean's mouth is, light-headed at my own boldness. Dean makes a noise that isn't quite a sound but reverberates through us both anyway; a sort of gasping sigh, pulling in and echoing out at the same time. It feels like relief and I hum slightly in agreement, moving my lips gently in a hesitant caress. Dean responds slowly, the air around us warming despite the coolness of the room. I shiver and gather this moment to me, memorising the sensations in obsessive detail, hoarding it in case it's all I'll ever have. Oddly, the bursts of pleasure radiating from every miniscule shift of my crotch are merely a vague backdrop to what seems important to me: Dean's heartbeat pressed near mine, the smell of his drying sweat, the way his lips are shy but eager.

I open my mouth very slightly, unsure whether I even want to push this. But Dean seems to get it, whatever 'it' is, and he responds by parting his own lips and inhaling briefly from me in a startlingly intimate gesture. I chase his mouth and he fits his open lips to mine only to close them again, dragging mine closed with them and then pulling away infinitesimally. When he presses back again it's sweet and quite chaste.

I'm oddly relieved by his unexpected modesty. It's entirely contradicted by the way I keep unconsciously rolling my groin against his or the way he bucks a little beneath me every time, but the innocence of the kiss itself is perfect. Dean Winchester might be the most perfect damn thing in the universe, even if he's a self-hating mess who can't seem to let himself have anything he wants without an agony of doubt and denial. Overcome with affection, I break the kiss and pull back enough to open my eyes and stare down at him. Green eyes flutter open a moment later and Dean looks dazed, his shocked expression tempered by flushed cheeks and pink lips.

"I love you," I inform him, not really meaning to say it out loud but not very surprised to find that I have. Dean freezes up and I shake my head. "You don't have to respond to that, don't worry. I just wanted to clarify it as fact."

"Cas..." he breathes, all reverent eyes and flustered glow, and my heart stutters because he may as well have said it back. I swoop down again to share my smile with him, suddenly eager to push this as far as Dean is willing to go. I twitch against him as his hands suddenly materialise on my thighs, sending a hot thrill through me. This time Dean is the one to open his mouth, coaxing my lips apart with each dragging, drugging kiss. I'm making pleased and surprised noises which I know full well are broadcasting my almost total inexperience in this area. I don't care. Dean knows me and judging by his roaming hands and straining hips, he doesn't care either.

It's as the gentle bumping of clothed flesh is developing into purposeful grinding that I hear it. Faint but unmistakable. I break away from the hypnotic sensation of Dean's tongue on mine to stare down at him in dismay.

"Sam is looking for you," I inform him reluctantly, in a hoarse and breathless voice. Dean blinks at me, eyes hugely dilated and brow scrunching endearingly in confusion. Then Sam's searching voice sounds again, closer this time. He'll reach the gym in less than half a minute.

Dean's mouth snaps shut and his face closes off. I feel my rushed, astonished sense of happiness and completion waver and crumple as he yanks his hands out from under my shirt and shoves hard at my chest. The reaction is clearly a panicked reflex but the horror in his eyes at the prospect of being caught by Sam leaves no room for me, and it hurts. Wordlessly and resignedly I push back onto my knees, cringing a little at how bereft I feel away from his body. Also, my erection has not managed to go away in the past several seconds and it feels entirely uncomfortable to be this suddenly dejected with physical arousal still muddling my senses. Looking down at Dean in front of me does nothing to help; he's still half-hard too and it's extremely obvious in the thin sweatpants. He scrambles back and it's only once he puts some distance between us that he seems to really look at my face.

"Cas- I-"

"It's alright, Dean, I understand," I hush him, although I don't, not really. Dean pushes up to face me on his knees, now gazing beseechingly at me with those sad green eyes, and I scramble to my feet to avoid kissing him again. Dean does the same and we stare silently at each other as Sam's footsteps approach. Tearing my gaze away and fighting down a sense of frustrated injustice, I turn and walk across to the other side of the room, picking up a small set of weights with no idea if I'm holding it correctly. I hear Sam enter the room behind me, hear his exclaimed greeting, raise a hand in acknowledgment without looking up. Dean is talking, his voice forced and husky.

I stare unseeingly at the dumbbell in my hand, feeling weighed down in more ways than one.


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello! I'm so glad that you all liked how I handled the long-awaited breaking of the sexual tension! But now comes the clean-up and I can't just write fluffy shit, it's not me, so enjoy this pure relationship drama while it lasts because next chapter shall introduce actual plot into the mix to keep things fresh and bump stuff along. Hopefully that's cool with you guys? I am winging it so badly with this fic at this point, my future plans for it are super vague, so if it turns to shit then I'm really very sorry but it was pretty decent until now so I feel like I've done alright. Anyway, you didn't need to know all that. I'm a terrible salesperson. Enjoy the chapter! xxx**

* * *

Sam wants Dean to take a look at a possible case that's close enough to come home from at night. I don't meet Dean's eyes as I watch them leave, not wanting to see the guilt and anguish and defensiveness which I know will be there. I linger in the gym for ten more minutes, my mind struggling to predict what will happen next between us. I know what I want to happen: I want Dean to stroll up to me at dinner and tell me that he's thought about it carefully and he feels the same way as I do and he's completely comfortable with that and we should move into the same bedroom and kiss some more and be totally honest with each other for the rest of our lives.

But this is Dean Winchester, and that's simply not how he operates.

Instead, I think about what is most likely to happen. Dean will undoubtedly be panicking and building up his walls. I can't properly fathom what his reasons are for being so terrified of exploring his romantic feelings for me - because I no longer doubt that he has them - but I'd guess at a blend of irrational ingrained homophobia, irrational self-loathing and a borderline rational fear of ruining our friendship. Dean is exhausting.

There's not much I can do about any insecurities he might harbour regarding his sexuality, but the simple fact of his physical attraction to me will counterbalance that and eventually he'll probably outgrow it. The self-loathing is also nothing I can fix in the short term, although if I'm going to set myself one long-term goal for my lifetime then getting Dean to love himself is the worthiest one I can think of.

Maybe the best thing I can do right now, then, is ameliorate any worries Dean may have about disrupting the relationship we already share. I should just be his friend and show him that it really doesn't matter what happens between us. We can make out on the gym floor and he can run away afterwards in a flurry of emotion and I will still be there for him, regardless of whether he's annoyed or offended me. And he's done both of those things. But forgiving Dean is something I'm good at.

Nodding decisively, I leave the gym and head to the bathroom. I'm intending to shower quickly, aware that it's dinner soon, but as I roll my aching shoulders under the hot water my mind drifts and suddenly, I'm replaying every nanosecond of contact between Dean and me. The way he looked, the way he smelled, the way he tasted, the sounds he made, the way he felt against me, under me...

It happens fast. The excitement and the heady desire come back to me in a tumbling rush and before I make any conscious decision about it, my hand is wrapping and squeezing and moving and I'm leaning back against the tiles, steam dragging into my lungs and eyes screwing shut. My head is a mess of lust-blown green eyes and rough groans against my tongue, calloused fingers sinking into the muscles of my back, teeth tugging and nipping at my lower lip. I don't have to think about how to touch myself because my fingers seem to respond directly to every shift and sigh of the Dean in my memory, instinct picking me up and carrying me into the heights of pleasure. It's a simple but hypnotising thought that finally pushes me over the edge of completion: does Dean think about me when he does this?

I gasp his name helplessly as my mind numbs and I almost slide down the shower wall, weak and trembling. Shit, that was more intense than last time. I brace my hands on my bent knees and lean forward a little, panting, my wet hair dripping into my eyes. It's another minute or so before I wash myself clean and turn the water off. Stretching and sighing, I make my way to my room and put on jeans and two shirts as well as socks. It must be time for dinner by now.

I pad into the kitchen feeling only slightly nervous. I'm determined to treat Dean as normally as possible. I will not have any part in creating distance between us.

Dean isn't there.

Sam and Kevin are already eating, a large bowl of mashed potato sitting on the table between them. A smaller bowl of peas sits beside it and Kevin is spooning some onto his plate as I sit down slowly. Both men have steaks on their plates and the plate in front of me does too. I stare at the meat before raising my eyes to find Sam watching me thoughtfully.

"You OK, Cas?" he asks me seriously, and I can see that he knows something happened before he walked into the gym. I shrug at him in a non-committal way.

"Where is Dean?" I ask without bothering to hide the slight sharpness in my voice. Kevin pushes the potato towards me silently and I nod my thanks, spooning a small amount onto my plate. Sam grimaces a little.

"In his room. He grabbed a beer and went in there as soon as he could after I interrupted you guys training. Told me he wasn't hungry. Is, uh, everything OK?"

I frown as I serve myself peas. "Probably not, Sam. I'll talk to him, though."

Sam eyes me for a moment before nodding and turning his attention to his food. I'm a little surprised and relieved that he's dropped the subject so quickly. It occurs to me that Sam actually trusts me to fix what's bothering Dean and I'm suddenly immensely grateful to him for that. The Winchester brothers are so deeply involved with each other that it can't be a small thing for Sam to step back like this.

I eat quickly, trying to think of what I can say to Dean to reassure him that nothing bad is happening or is going to happen. To convince him that if he just stays calm and allows himself to reach out for what he wants, something very good might happen. I finish my meal - it's pleasant but nowhere near as good as what Dean has cooked since I became human - and thank Sam and Kevin as I wash my plate and cutlery. They're comparing thoughts on an Enochian symbol and I slip out of the room practically unnoticed.

Dean's door seems very tall and thick when I reach it. I raise my fist and knock firmly, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling of fear and uncertainty gnawing at me. I hear a distinct sigh from within followed by Dean's annoyed response:

"Sam, just leave it, I told you I'm fine."

I roll my eyes and call back a reply, my voice wry.

"I'm not Sam, and you're not fine, Dean. Could I please come in?"

There's a still silence before I hear a shuffling noise and the door creaks open. Dean's face appears in the gap, wary and frowning.

"Cas."

I tilt my head at him. "Yes."

"What do you want?"

"You," I tell him honestly, and his eyes widen in shock. I continue quickly. "But right now I just wish to speak with you. So will you let me in?"

He stares blankly at me for several uncomfortable seconds before abruptly pulling the door open and gesturing me inside. I almost sag with relief but keep my expression neutral as I walk in and turn back to face him. Dean shuts the door and then leans back against it, folding his arms tightly and regarding me with poorly disguised fear. It hurts.

"So I'm guessing you're here to talk about earlier," Dean says sharply when I stay silent for several seconds. I nod slowly, unsure of how to proceed.

"I am. I don't want to ignore it or pretend it never happened. I can't do that this time, Dean."

Eyes on the floor, he hesitates and then nods quickly. "OK. I dunno what you think is about to happen instead though."

Frustration begins to gnaw at me. "Well, what would normally happen at this point? We're both people, Dean. We're even both human. What do humans do when they feel this way about each other?"

"As if I know," hisses Dean, green eyes flashing resentfully at me. "Nothing about this situation is normal. And how exactly do I feel, huh? Please, tell me, I'd love to know. I'm so glad that you're such a fucking expert."

I make an irritated grinding noise in my throat and turn away, fists clenched at my sides. Most of the time it's all too easy to practically worship Dean, but right now I can barely believe that I'm in love with someone who's this ridiculously difficult. My human mind can only seem to deal with one major emotion at a time and it's currently stuck on anger.

"You're being incredibly stupid," I inform him harshly, eyes on the wall. Dean snorts.

"Yeah, well, that's me. That's what you get. Not exactly first prize, sorry."

That makes me pause, enough to calm down and think about what's really going on. This all seems too deliberate. Is Dean actually trying to push me away? He seems to be displaying his worst side in an almost calculated manner. But why?

Exhaling slowly, I loosen my hands and turn back to face Dean with a speculative gaze. He's still wrapped around himself, hunched and wounded looking, the spiky irritation on his face a thin mask. I step closer and he flinches.

"There's nothing you can say or do that will make me leave you, Dean," I say softly. He blinks at me, obviously perplexed. I continue steadily. "Not for good. You can lash out and hurt me enough that I'll walk out of this room, but I'll come back. And you can do it again, and again, and even if you never stop, neither will I. I will never be gone for good."

"Now who's being stupid?" Dean mutters, but his arms have dropped a little and he's peering at me as though hoping I'll say more. I smile at him.

"Yes, maybe it is stupid of me. Self-destructive and unhealthy and foolish. But it's the way things are, the way they've been for years now. I can't change the way I feel about you, and I don't want to. It's a fact, Dean, that I love you. It will always be fact."

I watch him closely as I speak and I see his throat bob as he swallows heavily. "Cas..."

"It's OK," I interrupt, putting a hand up to silence him. "Take your time. We're friends, and that won't change. But please, don't be afraid of me. Being closer than we are now could make us both happy, Dean, but even if it falls apart we'll still be friends, and I'll still love you, because those are facts of you and me."

Dean's eyes are soft now, the tension gone from his shoulders. "Family."

I blink at his response. "What?"

"You keep saying we're friends, but we're more than that. We're family. And... look, yeah, maybe something else too."

I break into a relieved grin and he smiles back shyly before speaking, one hand still wrapped around the opposite elbow and the other relaxed at his side. "I'll think about it, Cas. I promise. I just need some time and space. This shit messes me up. I'm sorry..."

"That's fine!" I say, probably a little too quickly. I'm just so light-headed with delight that Dean is opening up to me and being honest. I beam at him and he gazes back at me for several seconds before blinking and ducking his head.

"OK, get outta here, sunshine," he mumbles, reaching behind him and pulling open the door. I can hear the smile in his voice and I want to kiss it very, very much. I walk past him without touching him, though. I just need to trust Dean to make his way to trusting me and maybe, just maybe, things will be the way they should be.

"Cas?"

I turn back so quickly that I almost overbalance and Dean smirks at me, leaning his temple against the doorframe. I flush and glare at him without any heat. He eyes me for a second, hand on the door, lingering before he pulls it shut.

"See you tomorrow?"

I smile softly. "I told you. I'm not going anywhere. See you tomorrow, Dean."


	18. Chapter 18

**Yay actual plot! And a certain character who I love to write XD  
Sorry to leave you with another cliffy... oops.  
Please review as it is pure joy for me to receive your thoughts and reactions xxx**

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I go to sleep smiling and wake up the same way. This is partially because my dreams were all highly pleasant replays of the gym floor incident and partially because, for the first time ever, I can dare to hope that my future might play out the way I've yearned for it to since I rebelled against Heaven. Probably since before that, although I had little comprehension of it at the time.

Of course, I tell myself sternly as I stroll up the hallway to the bathroom, Dean is still thinking about it. He could still decide that he wants nothing to change between us and that could be it, forever. But even though that would be legitimately heartbreaking, at least things would be clear and at least we'd both know for sure that the relationship we have is an honest one built on trust. I'd rather have a firm and lasting friendship with Dean than the tense, unsure one we've been skirting around for the past week.

I really want to kiss him again, though.

After I brush my teeth and drag damp fingers through my unruly hair, I change into the grey shirt and green plaid. I'm just contemplating whether I want to attempt cooking eggs for breakfast, walking towards the kitchen, when Dean hisses my name from his doorway ten feet behind me.

I turn slowly, unable to keep my face from warming. "Dean?"

He glances up towards Sam's room and then looks back at me, green eyes wide. "C'mere."

Heart fluttering, wondering if this could be the moment when my future is reshaped forever, I half-stumble back to his door. Dean reaches out and yanks me into the room by the sleeve, pulling me straight past him and shutting the door quietly. I peer at him, a little suspicious now of his stealthy behaviour.

"Dean, what's-"

"I need to talk to you," Dean interrupts me, looking serious. He's still in boxers and the same Metallica shirt I wore on my first night here. My eyes snag on a stain on the hem from where I dripped toothpaste foam on it and I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Dean hasn't washed it since I wore it.

"I know I'm supposed to be avoiding you until I've sorted myself out or whatever," Dean is saying in a low, urgent voice, and I re-focus on his words. "But this could be real important, and it's about Sam."

I straighten up, alert. "Ezekiel?"

Dean nods, eyes anxious. I fold my arms, frowning at the door behind him.

"I knew that something was wrong there," I mutter. I glance back up at Dean. "What is it?"

"I don't know, but Zeke is up to something, that's for damn sure," Dean says, stabbing a finger downwards for emphasis. "I went to talk to Sammy last night and I was, well, I was stalling, and I ended up rambling about the trip to see Charlie instead. And Sam said-"

"Stalling?" I cut in, confused. Dean snaps his mouth shut, looking oddly sheepish.

"Well, yeah," he mumbles, looking away, cheeks pink. One of his hands plucks at the hem of his shirt, right over the toothpaste stain, and my mouth twitches upwards at how endearing the small action is. He clears his throat and continues reluctantly: "I went to talk to him about you. And about, um, you know, stuff."

"Stuff?" I repeat, my mind seeming to process this information very slowly. Dean shoots me a flat, unimpressed look.

"Yes, OK? I do in fact talk about my feelings sometimes. And Sam is smart about that crap. Well, compared to me anyway. Look, that's not-"

"You were asking Sam for advice about me?" I smile, flattered and touched that Dean is giving so much thought to the developments occurring in his relationship with me. Dean rolls his eyes, throwing his hands dramatically in the air and turning to the side, a sure sign that he's deeply uncomfortable.

"Can we get back on topic?" he asks loudly. I shove my hands into my pockets and nod, still smirking at him. He turns back to me, bright red but looking determined to pretend otherwise.

"Right, well, I was talking to Sam and I mentioned this bar we went to because Charlie insisted that Sam and me drink cocktails with her, like a goddamn girl's night out. And Sam started talking about how the cocktails were real strong, which I thought was weird because he only had two and I sure didn't think they were that lethal. He told me that he went to use the bathroom soon before we left and he just... blacked out. Stepped into the hallway and suddenly he was outside the bar and twenty minutes had gone by according to his phone."

I'm frowning in concentration. "Ezekiel must have taken over during that time."

"Yep. But why?"

"I don't know. How did you not notice Sam being gone for that long?"

The colour that's faded from Dean's cheeks returns as he glances at the floor, fidgeting with his shirt again. "Ah. Well, I may have done some shots with Charlie as soon as he left and we were, uh, we were on the dancefloor after that. I figured Sam lost us. He didn't say anything."

I raise my eyebrows in amusement. "I didn't know you danced."

"Believe me, I don't," Dean snaps, scowling at his feet. "Charlie is a bad influence."

I'm grinning now. "I'd like to meet her."

Dean glances up at me and relaxes, smiling fondly. "Yeah, she'd like to meet you too."

We smile at each other for several seconds before Dean blinks. "So. Um. Sam. Zeke. What do you think?"

I blink too, a little chagrined at how easily distracted I am by this man. I focus with some difficulty. "I think that it's concerning that Ezekiel took over for so long and took Sam outside the bar. Something clearly occurred there. However, it could be that Sam was in some kind of danger, which Ezekiel averted. We can't really know unless Ezekiel tells us, or someone else who was there."

Dean nods slowly, frowning, and then his eyes widen. "Shit, I'm an idiot. The cameras! The bar's gotta have cameras."

"That would be incredibly helpful. How can we check the footage though?"

Dean shrugs. "Charlie can probably get hold of it, she lives there and I think she still has her fake badge."

I nod seriously. "That works. You'd better call her and ask. The sooner we see that footage, the sooner we can work out what Ezekiel may or may not be up to. Do you think he might have noticed Sam telling you about his black out? How did you react?"

Dean is already shaking his head. "Nope. I almost talked right over him and then we were talking about... other stuff. So I didn't really register what he said until afterwards."

Despite myself, I smirk again. "Oh, other stuff?"

"Shut up," Dean mumbles as he ducks past me to retrieve his phone from the bedside table. I wrap my arms around my stomach, squeezing lightly, and try to suppress my grin with difficulty. Turning, I see that Dean has dialled Charlie and is peering at me as it rings, although he turns away quickly when I meet his eyes. I hear Charlie answer and the volume is loud enough in the quiet room that I can make out what she's saying.

 _"Hey, Deano!"_

"Hey, Charlie, how's the new place?" I can hear the affection in Dean's voice and I'm glad that I know how things really are, because it causes me no envy.

 _"Seems pretty awesome so far but, ya know, early days. What's up?"_

Dean rolls his shoulders before launching into an explanation.

"OK, just bear with me. There's something I didn't tell you about Sam. He's not well right now, and it's hard to explain but... OK, don't freak out but he's kinda possessed. Not fully, but an angel is sort of... in him, right now, helping him. He doesn't know about it."

There's a silence and I stick my hands nervously back into my pockets. Dean fidgets, spinning slightly so that I can see his profile, one hand resting on his lower back with the elbow stuck out and fingers curled in.

 _"You want me to not freak out?"_

"Yeah, that'd be great."

 _"O-kay... How about I just pretend like I'm not freaking out?"_

Dean snorts, shaking his head and visibly relaxing, and I grin. I like Charlie.

"Yeah, that works. Look, the angel's name is Ezekiel and until now I've mostly trusted him. But Sam says he blacked out when we were at that bar the other night. You remember our night out? With the cocktails and that chick with the tattoos?"

 _"Oh, hell yeah I remember her."_

"Yeah, thought you might. Well d'you remember Sam disappeared for a while when we did those tequila shots?"

 _"Dean, I literally don't remember anything after those tequila shots."_

"You said you remembered tattoo chick!"

 _"I remember her from the next morning?"_

Dean laughs again. "Fair enough. Well, Sammy was gone for like twenty minutes and he doesn't remember what happened and it must have been Ezekiel. So what we need to do is get the CCTV footage from that bar. You reckon you can use your badge and get hold of that?"

 _"On it. I'll email you the footage, OK?"_

"Yeah. Thanks, Charlie. I owe you one."

 _"Nah, it's for Sam, I want to help. Besides, we both know what you can do to repay me."_

There's a pause before I see Dean's eyes go wide and flicker inexplicably towards me, not quite meeting my eyes. His free hand fists at his side.

"Charlie-"

 _"Oh, come on, Dean. Let's not pretend that Sam's the only Winchester who could do with an angel inside of him."_

Dean closes his eyes, a small horrified sound escaping him, face contorting into a grimace. It takes me a second or two, but then-

"Oh," I say out loud, shock jolting me into speech. Dean winces at the sound but keep his eyes closed. I blink several times, my face steadily getting warmer, trying not to think too much about the implications of what Charlie just said. She speaks again, having not heard my voice.

 _"Dean, don't get all mad, I'm just kidding. Well, I'm actually not, but-"_

"Cas is here," Dean cuts across her, eyes still shut. His voice is a little strangled. "Just in case you wanna, I don't know, shut up at any point."

I feel a ridiculous urge to laugh. There's another pause before Charlie responds.

 _"Well, fuck. I am super sorry. Um, hi, Cas! Just, uh, ignore what I said, it's this stupid joke that Dean and I-"_

"Don't worry about it," Dean interrupts her loudly, finally opening his eyes and staring at the opposite wall, fist still clenched by his side. The silence that follows this is unbearably awkward and I step forward, ignoring Dean's flinch.

"Hello, Charlie," I call out cautiously, hoping that my voice will carry through the phone that's still several feet away. Her response is far too enthusiastic.

 _"Oh, hey! Cas! I mean Castiel! It's you! I have heard so much about you, I mean not relating to what I said, that's another thing but anyway-"_

"Oh my God, Charlie," Dean says flatly, closing his eyes again in apparent pain. "Please, please stop talking."

 _"Yeah, sorry, good plan. Bad Charlie."_

I can't really stop the chuckle that bubbles out of my throat and Dean's eyes flash back open, meeting mine in disbelief. I press my lips together but it takes mere moments for my control to break and then I'm laughing properly, doubling over with my hands on my knees for support, eyes screwed up in mirth. I've never laughed like this before. It feels good in an odd, pure way. I can hear Charlie giggling along with me and I gasp as I straighten back up, grinning at the phone. Dean is staring at me, his own lips quirked even as he clearly tries to keep a straight face.

"Well, I'm real glad you two get along," he says dryly. I give one last breathless chuckle as I regard him warmly and he flushes, rolling his eyes and looking away. "Look, Charlie, I have to go but please, get hold of that footage ASAP, yeah? It's important."

I sober immediately, a little ashamed that I've been laughing carelessly while Sam could be in danger. Charlie is serious again on the phone too, promising to go straight to the bar and send us the footage within a day or two. She calls a goodbye to me and I respond immediately, already attached to the young woman. Dean sighs and shakes his head as he hangs up.

"Well, that's Charlie," he tells me unnecessarily as he puts the phone back on his bedside table. I watch him, hands back in my pockets.

"I like her," I say quietly. Dean hesitates, still not facing me. When he speaks his voice is barely a mumble.

"About, um, what she said..."

I fight back a smirk. "It's alright. It was quite an amusing situation."

Dean sighs. "I just don't want things to be awkward."

"You mean like this is awkward right now? Dean, you can look at me, I'm not offended."

Another sigh. Dean slowly swings around to face me, arms folded and face flushed, raising worried green eyes to mine. "I just don't want you to feel like we have to think about that stuff yet, you know?"

I cock my head in confusion, my heart rate hastening. We? Yet? What?

"I mean," Dean continues, oblivious to my hitched breathing, "There doesn't need to be any pressure on us, about anything."

Us?

"Wait," I say, drawing my hands out of my pockets to hold them up in a halting gesture. "Wait, Dean, I think I may have missed a crucial point in a conversation somewhere. I'm not really sure how human relationship boundaries work. Have we become... a couple?"

Dean stares at me, mouth snapping shut and breathing suspended. The silence stretches out and my pulse only picks up speed.

Finally, Dean opens his mouth to reply.


	19. Chapter 19

**Here is the antidote to the terrible cliffhanger I cruelly left you guys with last time! I've avoided that this chapter, don't worry. And this one has some quality time with Sammy, which we all love.  
I hope that you guys are all OK after all the terrible bombings that have been going on, first in Turkey and now in Iraq. These people are seriously sick and I'm so sorry to all the Muslims out there whose Ramadans have ended so horribly because of these events. I'd like everyone reading this story to please, please resist the ideas spread by these terrorists and the Islamophobic sections of the media and politics (ahem, Trump). Ordinary Muslims are the people who suffer the most because of these extremists who masquerade as devout followers of Islam. They are in fact following a sad travesty, of a religion no better or worse than any other. Don't allow hate and fear to eclipse logic and compassion.  
ANYWAY... enjoy this chapter and please review :)**

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"Um," Dean says hoarsely. I keep my wide, unblinking eyes fixed on him, feeling increasingly impatient. "Uh, well, I don't... I mean, I..."

"Dean," I say sharply, urgently. He startles and the word seems to fall from his lips almost by accident, shocking him as much as me.

"Yes."

His reply echoes in the air loudly for several long seconds, wrapping around me and thrumming in my ears. I stare wide-eyed at Dean, who looks fairly terrified and very much like he's lost control of the situation and is searching for a lifeline. Still, he's not scrambling to retract his pronouncement and he's staring straight back at me, no avoidance in his anxious gaze.

Oddly, I feel no overwhelming desire to throw myself into his arms or crow with triumph. I mostly feel reeling shock, overlaying a distant sense of excitement and a fond sort of sympathy for poor Dean, who has utterly surpassed himself in the last twenty four hours. I've never seen him this emotionally exposed for so long, in all the years I've known him. I should probably be the one to stay calm here.

"That's good," I eventually say very quietly, my gaze steady and my smile small but sure. "Dean, that's... I'm very happy to hear it."

Another drawn out silence makes it difficult for me not to fidget, but I'm getting better and better at controlling my human tics. Dean swallows, blinks, swallows again before managing a reply: "Uh huh."

"I know that this is no small matter, ever, but especially for... us," I venture, attempting to prompt a slightly more eloquent response from him. He twitches and I stop, trying to gauge his panic level. I continue cautiously. "I don't want you to feel overwhelmed."

Dean gives a small, incredulous, high pitched huff that might be laughter, finally shutting his wide eyes. "Overwhelmed. Yeah."

"Well, I often find human emotion overwhelming," I shrug. "Anyway, Dean, what I said last night is still the most relevant thing for you to keep in mind. I'm still here for you just as I always was. We will only change as and how you want us to."

"Yep."

"And-"

"Cas," Dean interrupts, eyes opening and fixing me with a pleading stare. "I know you like to talk about stuff. But I'm sorta freaking out a bit. No offence, and please don't think that I'm trying to take anything back or push you away or whatever, but could you just leave me alone for a few hours? I need to, I dunno, go for a drive or something."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Don't get drunk."

Dean frowns back at me. "I can if I want."

"Yes, but it's not a healthy way of dealing with stress and it's dangerous if you're planning on driving so-"

"Oh my God," Dean groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You are already nagging me."

"I say this as your concerned friend, Dean."

"Yeah, whatever, fine. I'll stick to the root beer. Happy?"

Smiling widely, I nod. "Very. I'll see you at dinner?"

Dean relaxes a little. "Yeah, unless Charlie sends the footage through today, which is unlikely. I'll text you if she does."

"OK."

There's a pause as I briefly wonder if I should just leave the room or if there's some etiquette to follow once a romantic relationship has been established. Dean looks anxious too, rocking back and forth on his feet, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. Shrugging, I make to walk past him, quite content to allow him the time and space he clearly needs to process the situation. My eyes are trained on the door so I don't notice his hand shoot out until it's wrapped around my wrist, tugging me to a halt. I glance down at it in confusion and then look up at Dean, who's gazing at me with enormous eyes.

"Um," he says as though it's an explanation for his action. I furrow my brow at him.

"Yes?"

He licks his lips nervously and his darting green eyes fixate on my own mouth. I tilt my head as I step backwards a pace and turn to face him, trying to work out what he's trying to communicate.

"Dean-"

All at once, he surges forward and kisses me slightly clumsily, his free hand cupping my jaw and his other fingers squeezing my wrist tightly. I make an odd squeaking noise, staying very still. Dean pauses too, lips pressed to mine for several warm seconds before he breaks away. He's blushing fiercely. He gives a defensive sort of shrug, dropping his hands hastily. I gaze at him, mouth slightly open, until he scowls at me.

"Well, are you leaving or not?"

Startled, I chuckle breathlessly. "Yes. Yes, sorry."

Giving him one last smile, I go to the door and pull it open. I don't look back as I close it but I call back over my shoulder: "See you later!"

Dean's muttered reply is cut off by the door closing. I stand in the empty hallway for a good ten seconds, eyes locked dazedly onto the opposite wall.

Dean Winchester and I are a couple.

I blink and turn to walk towards the kitchen. I repeat the words in my head, over and over, fingers twitching at my sides, skin buzzing. I don't realise that I'm grinning until my jaw starts to ache from the strain. I turn into the kitchen and come to an abrupt halt as I see Sam seated at the table, reading the newspaper. He glances up at me and I know that I should be thinking about the angel possessing him and the danger that he could be in, but I'm entirely distracted by the fact that I'm romantically involved with his brother... and he doesn't know. Should he know? I want him to know. Sam is my friend, my family. But what if Dean wants to be the one to tell him? I should just not mention it yet.

"Cas," says Sam slowly, eyes speculative. "Hey, man."

"Hey," I manage to croak, sidling into the room. Sam smirks.

"So... are you dating my brother yet?"

Shit. My mouth drops open and I gape stupidly before snapping it shut with a feeling of defeat. I tried.

"Oh. Well, actually, since you mention it... yes."

Sam's eyebrows shoot up but his smile only grows. "Really?"

I nod enthusiastically. "I think so. Perhaps 'dating' isn't the right term but he did confirm that he and I are a romantic couple now, although I'm not sure what the parameters of that definition are in this case."

Sam chuckles, leaning back in his chair, tossing the newspaper onto the table. "Good for him! I told him to stop dicking around and just be with you, but he seemed pretty unsure last night. Must've slept on it and come to his senses."

I laugh breathlessly. "Yeah, yeah, he must have done. It's just... Sam, things have changed so fast. Is it normal to feel this odd after a relationship shifts suddenly? I feel very odd."

Sam gestures for me to sit down and I do so, interlocking my fingers on the table in front of me and staring blankly at them. The younger Winchester gets up, moves around the room for half a minute and then a tumbler of amber liquid is placed in front of me.

"Drink this, calm down."

I eye the whiskey doubtfully. "I told Dean not to get drunk."

"Of course you did. This won't get you drunk, it'll just mellow you out a little. Come on, trust me. I don't usually prescribe alcohol but you look like you might actually pass out."

I hesitate before shrugging and picking up the whiskey, gulping down a large mouthful and promptly spluttering on the harsh drink. Sam pounds me painfully on the back, laughing merrily as though this is some awful rite of passage. I scowl at him.

"Did you make Dean drink this last night too? It's revolting."

Sam snorts, shaking his shaggy head. "I'd never have to 'make' Dean drink this, he breathes the stuff. And no, although he probably could have used it. He told you he came and spoke to me?"

I nod. "He wanted advice from you. About emotions and relationships and such."

"Yeah. I have no idea why, my track record with this stuff is even worse than his."

"He deeply values your opinion, Sam. As do I."

Sam smiles, shrugging in a characteristically modest way, and gestures for me to have some more of my drink. I take a tiny, cautious sip and it's far better this time, a liquid heat warming my tongue and throat. I tilt the glass, watching the light filter through the whiskey. When I speak my voice is hushed and helpless.

"What do I do now?"

The man beside me sighs. "Honestly? All bets are off. I can normally predict Dean's actions pretty well but this is new for him. You're changing him, Cas."

I shake my head, sitting up straighter and frowning. "I don't want to change Dean."

"These are good changes. Ones that need to happen. Ones that happen for most people in like, their twenties. But Dean isn't most people."

I nod slowly as I take another sip of drink. Sam pauses before speaking again.

"I guess my advice would be not to give Dean too much space. I assume he told you to give him space? Yeah. Problem is, he'll get scared if he's left to think it through too much. Don't push him hard, but for sure keep pushing. He won't get there on his own."

"But I don't know how to push. I don't know how humans do this whole relationship thing. What am I even supposed to be doing? Wooing him? Seducing him?"

Sam grimaces. "Ugh. I guess so? Be gentle, but yeah, that stuff."

I gulp down the remainder of my alcohol, grateful for the pleasant numbing edge it gives my mind. "I have no idea where to start. The only thing that occurs to me is your story about Jess and the jukebox."

With a surprised chuckle, Sam shrugs and nods. "OK, so do that."

"Just play a song he likes?" I say doubtfully. "It's that simple?"

"No, it's not that simple, Cas. This shit never is. But it's a fair start. Grab some beers or whatever, invite Dean to your room for a drink and a chat, put his music on, flirt a bit and even Dean will catch on that it's a date."

I nod reluctantly. "I suppose that does sound quite straightforward, and not too potentially embarrassing. Alright, I can do this. Which songs should I pick?"

"Anything from his favourite mix tape he always has in the Impala," says Sam promptly. "Give me your phone and I'll download the songs, I know the track listing by heart since I've been listening to the damn thing for centuries."

I screw up my face in puzzlement as I take out my phone. "Sam, that's not-"

"Hyperbole," Sam cuts me off with an eye roll. I nod sheepishly.

"Ah, of course. Well, thank you. That will be very helpful." I pause, emotion welling up unexpectedly and prompting me to continue speaking. "I'd like to express my gratitude for a lot of things, actually. For taking me in after I fell, helping me to adjust and teaching me so much. And for accepting and supporting the changes to my relationship with Dean. It would have been quite understandable for you to be doubtful and protective, especially given your own closeness with him."

Sam is blushing a little, shrugging bashfully as he peers down at my phone. "Nah, come on, I'm not an idiot. I can see how good you are for Dean. How well you fit together. I just want my brother to be happy, Cas, and you're a pretty big part of that. And I want it for you too."

He stops at this point, eyes widening in alarm as he looks up and sees the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.

"Thank you, Sam," I whisper, my voice choked. He looks me up and down before snorting in disbelief.

"Holy crap, you are actually a little bit drunk," he chuckles. "Who knew you'd be a total lightweight? I guess Jimmy Novak couldn't hold his whiskey either."

"I do feel somewhat affected by that drink, yes."

"Oh, man. You're even worse than Kevin, and he's barely past puberty."

I frown into my empty glass. "I suppose this is preferable to needing an entire liquor store to get inebriated."

"Yeah, true. Oh, hey, this is done. Just play any of these."

Sam hands me back my phone and I glance into his eyes as I thank him, wondering briefly what Ezekiel makes of all this. In the past I've been mostly unaffected by the scorn and sometimes disgust with which many of my kin have regarded my love for Dean. They simply didn't understand. But Ezekiel has been living with us, watching every move that Sam makes, seeing humanity up close. Maybe he can learn something, as I did.

I decide abruptly that if Ezekiel really was protecting or helping Sam that night at the bar, rather than betraying our trust, then I will try my hardest to build a friendship with him. He's a fallen angel and I know better than anyone how hard that is. But more than that, despite everything, he is still my brother. I need to believe that I can still mend what's broken between myself and my angelic family.

"You gonna be OK?" Sam asks lightly, unaware of my thoughts. I smile warmly at him.

"I hope so."


	20. Chapter 20

**Here you go! Another chapter. I like this one. There's some Kevin and some fluff, although hopefully not too much fluff as we all know my distaste for overfluffing. The pace of the fic slows here and I'm not sure why, but I promise that we will eventually get to the date and more Charlie and stuff with Gadreel and at some point in the distant future, actual smut. I'm just rather slow, but I guess if you didn't like my snail's pace you wouldn't still be reading XD Enjoy!**

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The day ticks by at an irritating pace. Dean, true to his word, slips out while I'm talking to Sam and goes for a long drive, texting Sam that he'll be back in time for dinner. I sit in my room and listen to the songs that Sam placed onto my phone, enjoying some and feeling ambivalent about others. I vaguely recognise all of them from trips in the Impala. The Aerosmith song that Sam and Jess first kissed to is included and I'm unsure whether it's part of the mix tape listing or if Sam just added it as a message of encouragement to me.

I decide on a particular track which I feel suits Dean and me, making a deal with myself that I'll kiss him by the end of that song. I have no idea why I feel nervous at the thought; Dean has made it perfectly clear that he's physically attracted to me. I seem to have fallen into the illogical human habit of regarding a kiss as an affirmation of romantic feelings, when really it's just an expression of physical and not necessarily emotional intimacy. What I actually want from Dean is assurance that he won't change his mind about our relationship and close himself off from me. In the meantime, kissing him again seems like a proactive option.

Feeling impatient with my own moping, I go back to the kitchen and find Kevin cooking instant ramen for a late lunch. I haven't eaten yet and I decide that ramen is easy enough for me to attempt. Kevin kindly guides me through the process while he eats his own food leaning against the counter, an amused grin lighting up his face as he watches me struggle. Finally, I serve the noodles into a bowl and sit down at the table with an annoyed huff. Kevin washes his dish and then settles opposite me with a glass of juice, eyeing me with quiet curiosity.

"So," he ventures as I begin to eat. "I've been pretty confused for a while now about what's going on between you and Dean."

I pause with a noodle dangling from my lips. Slurping it up hastily, I put my fork down. "You have?"

Kevin nods. "I mean, you guys are together, right?"

I confirm this with a smile, pleased that I can answer in this way rather than wistfully explaining that we're just friends. Kevin sits up straighter.

"I knew it!" he exclaims excitedly. He shakes his head, snorting. "Man, you guys should really tell Sam. I asked him after you arrived and he told me you and Dean weren't a couple. I was like, are you blind? I mean-"

"Sam wasn't wrong," I interrupt, frowning. "Dean and I were not romantically involved with each other at that point. Our relationship only reached that stage yesterday. Well, technically today, I suppose..."

Kevin raises his eyebrows in clear disbelief. "Dude. Come on. The staring? The sexting? The checking each other out all the time? Something must have been going on before now."

Flushing, I shake my head with a shrug. Kevin sits back in his chair, sipping thoughtfully at his juice.

"Wow," he finally says. "That is some serious build-up. I'm glad you guys have finally gotten a clue, then."

"So am I," I say mildly. Kevin grins at me. I smile back at him before a thought occurs to me.

"Kevin, you spend a lot of time with Sam."

The young prophet blinks before his eyes widen in apparent horror. "Oh, man, no. I mean, Sam's great, but I am not interested and I really don't think he-"

"No, you misunderstand me," I interrupt, amused. "I just wanted to know if you've noticed anything odd about his behaviour since the angels fell. After he recovered from the trials."

Kevin frowns. "Oh. Not really. Although the other day he had a weird freak out, but it's like he didn't even remember it afterwards."

I sit up straight, alert. "Tell me what happened."

"I don't know, it was so random. I was picking out stuff I'd translated which I found interesting and Sam was really into it, asking me all these questions like a total nerd. And that's a lot coming from me. Anyway, I was relaying some kind of angelic historical reference. I looked up and Sam was glaring at me, like total death glare, it was kind of scary. I was like, dude, what's up? And he told me in this really angry voice that I should stay out of affairs that don't concern me and that there's so much I don't understand, could never understand."

I'm listening intently. "Then what?"

"Then he just got up and walked out of the room. Came back five minutes later acting all normal again. Then - this is the weirdest bit - he sat down and wanted to know more about what I'd been talking about. I was like, um, I thought you said I should stay out of that stuff? He seemed really confused so I dropped it and changed the subject."

"Good," I murmur. "That's good, Kevin."

"Why?" the boy asks suspiciously. "What's up with Sam?"

"Nothing," I say perfunctorily, not even bothering to make the lie convincing. Kevin narrows his eyes and I continue before he can protest. "What was the historical reference that angered him?"

"It was... I don't know, it was talking about failure and punishment and as an example, it mentioned the angel who let down his guard when Eve ate the apple."

"Gadreel?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Why would Sam be all defensive of this Gadreel guy?"

I stare at the table surface, thinking hard. Sam isn't defensive of Gadreel, but Ezekiel clearly is. Why? I can't recall any angel I knew ever having made contact with the infamously shamed and imprisoned Gadreel, least of all Ezekiel.

"I have no idea," I mumble, more to myself than to Kevin. He sighs impatiently.

"Castiel, something is clearly up. Is Sam OK?"

I glance up at him. "For now, yes. I can't share everything with you, Kevin. Just keep working on your translations and if you need to know something, we'll tell you. But, please, this is important: do not mention this to Sam. Any of it. It's for his own safety."

Kevin's eyes are wide and concerned. He nods slowly, reluctantly. I breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank you. You will know more once we do. Just don't worry too much about it for now."

He snorts. "Yeah, right. Like I do anything but worry, living this batshit crazy life."

I regard him sadly. "You had very different plans for your future."

"Yeah, I did," says the prophet bitterly. The anger in his eyes fades after a moment, leaving a dull weariness. "Whatever. This is how things are now. I suppose I should just be grateful that my Mom and I are still alive."

I feel a surge of sympathy and protectiveness. It's so unfair that Kevin is living in fear, shackled by the whims of misfortune, his bright human dreams destroyed. I've seen it so many times, but this hits me harder than usual. "I'm sorry, Kevin. I really am. We'll keep you both safe, though, I promise."

Rolling his eyes, Kevin downs the last of his juice and stands up. "Sure you will. You'll smite anyone who threatens me, right? Oh, wait, you can't."

I stare up at him, hurt and lost for words. He blinks at me and remorse is clear on his face. "OK... that was douchey of me. I'm sorry. I'm just so mad all the time, and so fucking tired."

I shrug and nod, still feeling a little winded. Kevin sighs.

"I'm happy for you and Dean," he mutters flatly. I open my mouth to reply but he turns and leaves the room, dumping his glass in the sink on the way. I push my cold ramen aside and sit for a while in the silence, trying to shake the melancholy feeling that Kevin's words left me with. We've all had to deal with loss and pain that we could do nothing to change.

Instead, I think about the link between Ezekiel and Gadreel. Perhaps they met after the fall, since Gadreel would have been freed from his chains by Metatron's spell. But no, they can't have had time. They must have formed a relationship before the fall, in Heaven. Perhaps Gadreel was freed after I rebelled and I just never heard about it. It seems highly unlikely though-

"Jeez, I can hear your brain whirring from here."

I jump and look up, heart thudding. Dean is standing in the doorway, a full glass of whiskey in his hand, eyeing me with a familiar look of false confidence on his face. It doesn't mask the uncertainty in his eyes or the way he hovers, ready to run.

"Dean," I breathe, half rising from my chair before I remember that humans like to 'play it cool' and I should probably attempt to do so too. Smiling at him, I sit back down and gesture to the seat opposite me. "Did you have a good drive?"

He hesitates before crossing to the table and sitting down, fixing watchful green eyes on me. "Yeah. Yeah, I did a lot of thinking."

I nod, unsure of how to respond. "That's... good."

"I always say that thinking too much is a dangerous thing," he says in a pensive tone, swirling his drink absently. "But yeah, good. It's good."

I raise my eyebrows. "Is that your first drink?"

Dean rolls his eyes, his gaze sharpening. "Yes! I waited till I'd put Baby away for the day before I so much as sniffed any booze. Don't worry."

"No, I just meant that you're acting a little odd."

"Am I?" Dean says with a wry grimace. I chuckle and then, quite suddenly, remember that I have information to share regarding Ezekiel. I do so quickly and Dean seems to lose his awkwardness as he listens and asks questions, falling back into his default mode of protective big brother.

"So this is something to do with this Gadreel guy," Dean muses, sipping at his drink. "OK, OK, how about this: some kind of cult group. I mean, the angels have been splitting into factions and shit since the civil war up there, right? Maybe some of those factions were more out there than others. Maybe one of them had Gadreel as their poster boy instead of you or Raphael! Ezekiel could just see this Gadreel dude as a symbol..."

I stare at him and he falters, losing the excited sparkle in his eyes.

"I mean, that's probably not it," he mutters, glancing away.

"What? No, Dean, that's smart!" I protest, leaning forward. "I never thought of that. I assumed Ezekiel must know Gadreel personally, but you're right, he may just know of him and have some kind of regard for him. That's probably it, actually."

A smile tugs at Dean's mouth and he shrugs, flushing a little. "Guess I can't be a dumbass all the time."

I frown in disapproval. "One day, I'd like to see you acknowledge your own intelligence and actually mean it."

Dean makes a face at me but then pauses, his eyes holding mine. When he speaks his voice is very quiet and serious. "You really would, wouldn't you?"

I tilt my head at him. "What do you mean?"

"I just... I was thinking about that today. About the way you see me, and what a load of crap it is, but how amazing it is too. And I-" He pauses, swallows, visibly pushes past fear and reluctance. "I think I need that. You. I think you're good for me."

I bite my lip to stop my grin from looking too idiotically happy, but I feel uncharacteristically like whooping out loud. "Sam said the same thing to me."

"Yeah, look, obviously I didn't reach these oh so wise and thoughtful conclusions without some help."

I chuckle, crossing my arms loosely on the table and leaning forward. "And what are some of your other wise and thoughtful conclusions?"

Dean downs the rest of his drink smoothly, his confidence appearing more genuine now. "I reckon I'm pretty lucky to have you, and I probably never say that to you, but I just did. So, um, yeah."

"I think that I'm the lucky one."

"Yeah, you would. I also realised today that this thing, unlike every other time I've tried it, could actually work. I mean, that's kinda awesome. And terrifying, but hey, let's focus on the positives."

I'm actually dizzy with joy at this point. "Yes, let's."

Fiddling with his glass with nervous fingers, Dean's smiles fades a little and mine echoes it. I watch him closely as he continues, his eyes fixed on the table top.

"Cas, I do want this to work out. I know I've spent a lot of time - years - acting like this thing between us wasn't there, or was something different. But I do get that we're past that point now. I can't promise that this won't turn to shit, but I can promise that I won't be pretending any more. OK?"

I take a moment to respond. "Honesty is all I'm asking of you, Dean. Anything else you give me is up to you. I just want us to be together, in whatever form suits you best."

Dean glances up at me and shakes his head, looking oddly upset. "That's... ridiculously unselfish."

"Do you want me to be selfish?"

"I want you to be happy," Dean says without hesitating, and his hands go still on the glass. He looks as surprised by his words as I feel. "Yeah, fuck, I really do. I want you to be happy. Maybe that's the problem. I don't make people happy, Cas. I can't even make me happy."

I shut my eyes and shake my head, my fingers digging in where they're wrapped around my upper arms. "That's the opposite of the truth. My experience of happiness is exclusively centred around you."

I hear Dean sigh. "You need to get out more, then."

I laugh a little breathlessly, opening my eyes and regarding him with unabashed adoration. He peers back at me, looking puzzled more than anything else.

"Dean," I say softly. "I would like to ask you to attend a date with me."

Dean's eyes go wide, and then narrow again with suspicion. "Sam put you up to this, didn't he?"

"Yes. It's just some beers in my room."

To my surprise, Dean blushes and sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. "That is a classic middle school technique for getting someone alone and reaching third base."

"I don't know what-"

"Fine," Dean says loudly, talking over me. "I'll bring the beers. This is stupid though."

"If you don't want to, we don't-"

"Eight o'clock OK?"

I huff in irritation but Dean's eyes are twinkling with mirth. He's clearly making fun of me. I should really be used to it by now.

I can work on that.


	21. Chapter 21

**OK, OK, I've blustered a lot about my updates being fixed and to stop pestering me to update earlier. But ignore that temporarily because I am updating early right now, as I'm going on a short trip and the alternative was updating a day late. I would have gone with a day late (sorrynotsorry) but this chapter is kinda filler anyway so I felt bad. I guess from now on my weekly update will just shift back a few days. IT WILL STILL BE JUST ONE CHAPTER PER WEEK.  
** **I'm not sure whether I like awkward!Dean but it seemed like the most realistic portrayal of how Dean would deal with this kind of situation.  
** **This chapter might be filler but I still think it's alright and it has the whole bunker family together which was nice to write, even if very briefly. So I hope you all still enjoy it even if it's not the much-awaited date :P**

* * *

Dinner is awkward, there's no ignoring it.

Before Sam and Kevin arrive, it's fine. Dean and I sit at the kitchen table for at least an hour after arranging our 'date', discussing Ezekiel and Gadreel and most importantly, Sam. We haven't really reached any conclusions - other than reiterating to each other several times that we really need that footage from Charlie - when Sam himself wanders in, stopping dead when he sees us.

Dean glances up at him, blushes furiously and then glowers down at the table top, fists tensing where they rest there. His brother hovers in the doorway, lips twitching, doing a terrible job of hiding his clear amusement and excitement. I sigh audibly.

"Hello, Sam."

Sam grins widely at me. "Oh, hi, Cas! How are you this fine evening?"

"I'm well, thank you. And you?"

Sam strides into the room, heading to the fridge, smiling down at Dean as he passes. The older man shoots him a sideways scowl, which Sam ignores as he replies to me.

"Yeah, thanks, I'm pretty good. It's been a good day, huh?" Pulling three pizzas out of the freezer as he speaks, Sam tosses another toothy grin over his shoulder at Dean. "Wouldn't you say so, Dean?"

I glance at Dean, who's covered his eyes with one hand. "Yep."

"Aww, Dean, you not feeling well?" pipes up Kevin's voice from the doorway. Dean flinches but doesn't look up as the prophet practically saunters into the room, smirking between the two of us at the table.

"Headache," Dean grunts, rubbing his forehead. At this point it's probably the truth. I decide to distract Kevin from prodding Dean any further.

"Kevin," I say calmly, gaining the young man's attention. "Am I mistaken in thinking that you know how to play the cello?"

"Um. Yeah, I play. Why?"

"I would like to learn," I reply. Dean looks up, eyeing me doubtfully.

"Really?" he says in a sceptical tone. I frown reproachfully at him.

"Yes, really. I've always admired human music. Angelic song is very different and I was never much good at it. Perhaps I'll be better at making music through an instrument."

"Yeah, Dean," chimes in Kevin, eyes twinkling. "And the cello is a good choice. Cas is probably great with his fingers, don't you think?"

By the time I fully process the innuendo, Dean is an impressive shade of red and has again covered his eyes, swearing under his breath. I can hear Sam snuffling with laughter in the background as my own face heats up.

"Kevin," I say weakly, a pointless reprimand. The boy only blinks innocently at me and I shake my head, failing to keep from smiling despite Dean's clear mortification. There's a prolonged silence before Sam speaks, his voice calm.

"Let's talk about something else. The pizzas should be ready in another ten minutes or so, but in the meantime we have chicken in the fridge that needs using by tomorrow night. Dean, you wanna mix up that spicy BBQ marinade for it?"

Taking a deep breath, Dean opens his eyes and nods, standing up from the table. "Sure thing."

After that Sam and Dean bustle about in the kitchen while Kevin discusses the finer points of the cello with me, seeming genuinely pleased by my interest. It's the most engaged I've seen him regarding anything other than prophet-related business and I'm glad to see his enthusiasm as we lay the table. I really would like to attempt learning to play at some point.

"I'm just saying, being a hipster brunch food doesn't make poached eggs any less delicious," Sam's voice breaks into our conversation as he carries two of the steaming pizzas to the table. Dean harrumphs as he divides the third one between all of us, eyeing his brother doubtfully.

"I still don't get what's wrong with fried," he shrugs, putting the empty tray on the bench and settling in the chair next to me.

"Poached eggs taste better," Sam insists, picking up a pizza slice that appears to have over a dozen different types of topping on it.

"And they're a healthier option," I add. Sam slumps with a defeated look and Dean points at me with his slice as though I've revealed a sinister secret.

"I fucking knew it," he says grimly. "Healthier option, huh? I'll stick with fried. Maybe scrambled for special occasions."

Sam mouths an obviously sarcastic 'thanks' at me and I grimace apologetically, remembering too late that 'healthy' is not a word that Dean likes associated with food.

"Poached eggs are probably really good, though" I venture after swallowing a mouthful of reasonably pleasant pizza. "We should try making them, Dean. I was meaning to learn more about cooking anyway, you could teach me."

Glancing at me with an unimpressed look, Dean opens his mouth to reply when Kevin speaks instead, smirking at us.

"Aawww, cute..."

Sam nudges him but Dean has already snapped his mouth shut and is frowning at his food. I shoot Kevin an exasperated look, but there's nothing to be done until Dean gets over his discomfort and self-consciousness. At least the prophet has the decency to look repentant.

After several more minutes of stilted small talk mostly between Sam and me, Dean pushes back from the table, having eaten most of the second pizza by himself.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he announces to the room at large. "It's quarter past seven."

Those last words make me sit up straighter and I observe Dean cleaning his plate with a new nervousness stirring in my stomach.

"Uh, thanks, Mr Wolf," Sam replies in a confused tone. "You got somewhere to be?"

"Not going anywhere, no," Dean says evasively without looking up. He stacks the cleaned items on the draining board and wipes his hands on his jeans as he walks past us, meeting my eyes briefly and offering a small smile. "See ya."

"See you," I murmur, lips curving up as I watch him leave the room. Sam looks at me and his face lights up with understanding.

"Oh!" he whispers excitedly. "You asked him?"

I nod slowly and Kevin frowns between us.

"Asked him what?" he enquires after swallowing his mouthful. I shrug awkwardly.

"I'm just spending some time with Dean tonight," I explain. Kevin raises his eyebrows.

"I see. Well, have fun and all, but keep it down, OK? Some us have study to do."

"Wow," mutters Sam, rolling his eyes. Kevin scowls at him.

"I'm sure we won't disturb you," I assure the young man. "It's just some quiet drinks and conversation, I think. Oh, and Dean mentioned something about 'third base'."

Both Sam and Kevin startle at this, with Sam almost choking on the last slice of pizza. I eye them with concern.

"Oh, wow, I did not need to know that," Sam gasps out. Kevin's shocked expression has morphed into mirth, eyes gleaming with laughter as he thumps Sam on the back.

"Hey, I assumed they'd be all out having sex," he says cheerfully, which only causes Sam to look more pained. I feel myself flush and squirm in my seat a little.

"I - I don't think - I mean, as far as I can tell, that is not what Dean has planned, but I suppose I don't know-"

"Hey, relax," Kevin cuts across me. "I'm sure Dean won't push you into anything you're not comfortable with. Right, Sam?"

"Right," confirms Sam, having recovered from his coughing fit. "And I'm equally sure that I don't want to keep talking about my brother and sex. Cas, you oughtta go get ready, huh?"

I nod seriously. "I suppose I should shower too."

"Go hop in with Dean," Kevin snickers, earning an eye roll from Sam. My eyes widen at the thought, skin warming considerably.

"I don't think-"

"He's joking," Sam sighs. "Go use the little one attached to the gym. Takes longer to heat up and the water pressure isn't as good, but it'll do."

"OK. Thank you, Sam."

"No problem," Sam grins up at me as I stand, picking up my plate. I wash them as quickly as possible, suddenly aware of time ticking away. Waving goodnight to the two men at the table, I head to my room, casting a longing look at the closed bathroom door. I can faintly hear Dean whistling in there.

I accidentally flew in on one of Dean's showers, years ago when we were first friends. At the time I was unable to understand his mortified yelping and grabbing at the curtain. Nudity has always struck me as an odd issue for humans to be so deeply concerned about, although admittedly it's a seemingly instinctive one; even Adam and Eve had a complex about it. However, I took note of his expletive-laden orders to never, ever do that again and I haven't seen him in the shower since. Which is a shame, because I'm now far more appreciative of how visually pleasing Dean is without clothes on. Perhaps, in time, I can enjoy the sight again.

But the first step will be tonight's date. I need to make sure that I don't somehow put Dean off. Being clean and nicely dressed will be a good start.

The gym shower is as disappointing as Sam indicated but I wash my hair and skin quickly, using the one faded bottle of shampoo in there for everything. It doesn't smell as pleasing as the one I've been using in the main shower, which I've identified as Dean's because his hair has the same citrus scent. Towelling off, I make my way back to my room, shivering lightly in the cool air. The bathroom is open now, tendrils of steam still dissipating into the hallway. Dean's bedroom door is closed.

I check my phone before dressing. It's twenty minutes to eight. I put on a blue t-shirt and the blue-purple plaid that Dean picked for me, along with a fresh pair of jeans. Quickly, I make a trip to the bathroom and brush my teeth, wiping steam from the mirror to examine my reflection. I attempt to finger-comb my damp hair into some semblance of order. There's a slight tuft at the crown of my head that won't lie flat and so I try running my fingers aggressively through the rest of my hair too, deciding that it's better to have slightly wild-looking locks all over rather than neatness ruined by one stubborn piece of hair. The messed up hair actually looks sort of good, and the ever-present stubble is at a pleasing level too. Smiling a little more confidently at my reflection, I carefully dab a few drops of the pleasant aftershave onto my neck and return to my bedroom.

Ten minutes to eight. I tidy the room nervously, hanging up my towel and straightening the blankets on the bed. I start playing the songs that Sam put onto my phone, adjusting the volume to fairly quiet but still clearly audible. I leave the phone on the bedside table and pace the floor in time with the beat, wringing my hands with mounting anxiety. This is bizarre. How do humans do this? More to the point, how should I do this? I wonder what Dean is expecting of me. Should I treat him any differently? Does applying the word 'date' to time spent together change how that time should be spent?

Abruptly, my mind goes to Kevin's assumption that Dean and I are going to have sex. I haven't really considered whether sex will be included in this change to mine and Dean's relationship. It does seem like an inevitable realisation of the attraction between us, but I wouldn't be more than mildly disappointed if Dean wasn't interested in exploring that. It doesn't matter much to me. I'll leave that up to Dean.

What I'm less sure about leaving to Dean is maintaining the emotional closeness that we've hesitantly established. Sam was probably right in advising me not to give Dean too much space lest he talk himself out of the whole thing. But that's why tonight is a good idea. Explicitly calling this a 'date' doesn't have to change the way I interact with Dean, but it does provide a clear definition of that interaction as a romantic one. I nod firmly to myself.

There's a knock at the door.


	22. Chapter 22

**Hi guys! Sorry that this is a day late, I had my birthday party two nights ago and I had work last night so yesterday was just me attempting to resurrect myself from the dead enough to resemble a functioning waitress. I managed it, just. Anyway, we've finally reached Cas and Dean's first date! This is a multi chapter event so don't worry when this chapter comes to an end and things you wanted to happen didn't happen. The date continues next chapter. And kinda the chapter after that too. Patience, friends. Also my Cas hair kink is poorly hidden in this chapter haha oops.**

 **This next bit is a message purely for the delightful 'guest' who left a review on this fic yesterday, as I can't PM you. All other readers, the following is not directed at you!**

 **Dear 'guest': You seem dissatisfied with my update rate. I would like to bring to your attention how fucking rude and ungrateful it is to have free access to my work, which you claim to enjoy, and to then berate me for not churning out chapters at the speed you'd like. I put a lot of time and effort into my writing and I honestly couldn't care less whether you feel that it's 'worth the wait'. Are you my employer? Do you pay me for all the careful work and thought I give to this fic? Do I write this solely for your enjoyment? No, no and no. If the frankly generous rate of one chapter per week is too slow for you then feel free to fuck. off. and read something more to your liking. Thanks very much! xxx**

* * *

It takes me several seconds to move, or even breathe, but after a slight panicked pause I move across to my bedroom door and pull it open with a determined smile.

Sure enough it's Dean, holding a six-pack of the beer I usually see him drinking with dinner or during research. He's wearing just one shirt, a moss green one that actually appears to fit him well enough to wear buttoned up. It looks unfairly good on him, which is no surprise since everything does as far as I've seen. It matches his eyes, which upon meeting mine immediately move up to my damp, wildly mussed hair. Perhaps messing it up was a mistake, but it's too late to fix it now and besides, Dean has seen me looking much worse and apparently still wants to be here. I take a calming breath.

"Hello, Dean," I greet him quietly. "Come in."

Stepping aside, I gesture vaguely behind me at the room. Dean looks into my eyes as he passes, almost smiling but not quite managing it. I shut the door and stare at him as he halts next to the bed, placing the beers on my nightstand next to my phone. He pauses and gazes down at it, obviously listening to the song playing.

"Huh," he says, the first sound he's made since arriving. "Bon Jovi. 'Livin' on a prayer'."

I murmur agreement, walking up to him until I reach his side. He swallows and glances aslant at me, eyes again catching on my hair. It seems to be really bothering him. Dean's hair is too short to ever really be messy. Maybe he hates messy hair. I drag my fingers through it self-consciously and Dean flushes a little as he watches, which is an odd response.

"You look great," he blurts out, staring back down at the nightstand. His face gets redder. I grin, surprised and gratified by the compliment.

"Thank you, Dean. So do you."

Dean makes a dismissive sort of gesture with his head, a kind of half-shrug.

"If you say so. I didn't know you had this music."

"Sam gave it to me," I admit, moving to open the pack of beers. "It's the songs on your mix tape in the Impala."

"Huh," Dean says again. I glance at him and he's already looking so I smile gently, trying to put him at ease. Pulling a can of beer out of the packaging, I open it and offer it to him. He half-smiles as he takes it from me.

"Tryna get me drunk, Cas?"

His voice has that light, teasing quality that it sometimes gets around me and I recognise it with a flash of realisation. It's flirtation. This is how Dean sounds when he talks to women who he finds attractive. How could I have only realised since becoming human that Dean flirts with me? He's been doing it almost since we met. It occurs to me that if I'd only paid better attention, I could have worked out Dean's feelings for me all along. This minor epiphany is both frustrating and oddly comforting. It leaves little room for doubt in my mind, which is good because doubt would be a crippling thing in this situation. I grin at Dean as I reply, standing up straighter.

"I think that this is more likely to affect me than you. Sam and I discovered today that my alcohol tolerance as a human is almost non-existent."

Dean snorts, seeming to relax a little as he watches me open my own beer and take a sip. "That ain't something you tell a date."

"Why not?"

He shrugs, smiling coyly against the lip of his can, eyes twinkling. I stare rather stupidly at him until he rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "Never mind. You, uh, wanna sit down?"

I nod and Dean looks around the room as though expecting chairs to have materialised since he arrived. I wait patiently for him to arrive at the obvious conclusion but he still hesitates when he looks down at the bed.

"I guess we'll just..."

It's my turn to roll my eyes and I do so as I walk around to the other side of the bed and climb on, settling on the covers cross-legged and taking another swig of beer. Dean eyes me with pursed lips before shrugging and joining me, although he sits with his back to the headboard and his outer knee drawn up for his elbow to rest on. He's in the spot I usually sleep in and he drums his free fingers on his thigh, looking nervous again. I cast around for something to say but he beats me to it.

"AC/DC. 'Highway to Hell'. Classic track. Sam always says it's a bit close to home for us, though."

It takes me a moment to understand but then I realise that he's again talking about the song playing. I laugh softly.

"'Highway to Hell'. Yes. That is a little too fitting."

Dean grins at me and takes another drink of beer, eyes drifting off and around the room. I watch him closely, utterly uninterested in my surroundings. Dean is frowning, though, so I glance at my bedroom too even as he speaks.

"This room is so bare, man. You should get some stuff in here. I could take you into town, get you a TV and a... I dunno, a bookshelf? You like books."

I look back at him, shrugging. "It doesn't bother me. It's only a room."

Dean looks a little pained at this, shifting on the bed and fixing me with his full attention. "Yeah, but it's your room. Your space. You should like it in here, it should be somewhere you want to be."

"I want to be here now," I point out, sipping thoughtfully at my drink. This gives Dean pause and he sits back again, flushing a little and looking away.

"Yeah, but that's..."

He trails off and I finish the sentence for him, quietly but firmly. "Because you're here."

Dean doesn't reply but his cheeks stay pink. I resist the urge to chuckle at him. "I'd like a bookshelf, Dean. I don't need a TV, though. Maybe a laptop?"

Dean relaxes again and smiles at me. "Sure, a laptop. There's a decent electronics place about twenty minutes drive from here. We'll go soon."

"After we've sorted all of this out with Sam," I say seriously. He sighs and nods, looking worried, and I regret saying anything about the situation with Ezekiel. I shift closer to Dean on the bed, my knee nudging against his hip. He meets my eyes, looking a little startled at my sudden closeness.

"Sam will be alright, Dean. I remember Ezekiel well and even if he's been changed since then, he was a brave and intelligent angel when I knew him. From what I've experienced, brave and intelligent beings can nearly always be reasoned with. If he intends to harm Sam, we will stop him."

I inject as much conviction into my voice as I can, holding Dean's verdant gaze with earnest determination. He stares at me for a moment before exhaling slowly, blinking, his lips twitching in an echo of a smile.

"I never thank you," he almost mumbles. I cock my head in confusion and he elaborates, voice still very quiet, eyes still locked onto mine. "For always wanting to help. Always being ready to save us."

I'm taken aback by his words but I merely shrug, finally tearing my gaze away and sipping at my beer before speaking. "You don't need to thank me."

I hear Dean snort lightly. "Come on, I owe you a million times over. You deserve way more than just a 'thank you', but still, I mean it. Thank you, Cas."

I can feel my face warming, although I have no idea why I should feel embarrassed by his praise or flustered by his gratitude. There's a moment of silence and I listen to the song playing in the background, realising that it's just coming to an end. I glance back at the man in front of me, opening my mouth to ask something inane about laptops, when I recognise the next song that's starting. It's the one that reminded me of my relationship with Dean, the one during which I planned to kiss him. All at once, I feel illogically terrified.

"Huh, this song," Dean is saying, looking sideways at my phone, obviously unaware of the way I've frozen in place with wide eyes and tense shoulders. "Man, this brings back memories. Haven't actually played this tape in a while, dunno why."

"Memories?" I repeat, hoping that Dean doesn't notice my stiff voice or how I can't seem to relax. He barely glances at me before taking a deep swig of his beer, eyes cast up at the ceiling as he thinks before replying.

"You remember Jo?"

I nod, glad of my rising curiosity because it distracts me from my fear and nerves. "Jo Harvelle. Ellen's daughter."

"Yeah," Dean says, his eyes sad, still staring upwards. His head is tilted back slightly, the column of his throat dusted with light stubble, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. I scold myself for wanting to kiss the exposed skin when Dean is clearly having a melancholy moment, remembering his fallen friend who was my ally too. Desire is so insensitive, and makes me feel shallow. I refocus as he continues speaking after a moment.

"This song always makes me think of her. Back when I first knew her. Man, she was a slap in the face. So gorgeous and so badass. And so untouchable. I fell for her damn fast, not that she seemed to know it. Guess she had better things to think about, but I wasn't used to that."

I'm not remotely surprised to feel the sharp pinpricks of jealousy spreading through me as I listen to Dean reminisce. I ignore the emotions, watching blankly as Dean smiles into the distance, lost in memory. He seems to be mostly talking to himself.

"She played this track one night when I was hanging around at the bar. Had this song stuck in my head for ages, but really I just had Jo stuck in my head, I guess."

The jealousy is getting harder to push aside as I watch Dean take a sip of his drink, eyes fluttering shut, expression soft. I never knew that he'd had feelings for Jo. It makes sense, though. My memories of Jo are fairly vague but I remember that she was beautiful and brave and her soul shone like starlight. She was worth falling in love with, although I'm not sure if that's what Dean is describing. He may have merely experienced an attraction to the young woman, one which faded into this gentle fondness I'm seeing on his face. I'm staring so intently at Dean that I jump slightly as he looks directly into my eyes, his expression almost shy.

"I thought that could be it for me, you know? Well, no, you don't know. See, until Jo I thought I could never make a relationship work, not even in the short term. Then I met her and it was like, wow, this chick gets it, she can hold her own, she can survive the shitstorm that's my life. Obviously, that didn't work out..."

He pauses, looking away, the sadness back in his eyes. I barely have time to carefully process what he's said before he recaptures my gaze and speaks again, an odd determination in his voice.

"Then there was Lisa, and I did something stupid there. I thought I could leave it all behind and be normal. Ha, yeah, right. No way. She almost died, Ben too, and I thought I'd learned my lesson. It's not for me, that stuff. Domestic bliss or whatever. I can't have that. That's what I thought."

Another pause and this time, Dean doesn't look away. He holds my entire attention effortlessly and I lean forward, enraptured. He's speaking far more than usual, as though there's something he wants to impart, something he's working up to. The jealousy fades rapidly in my gut, forgotten and unimportant. Dean's eyes shine with something bright and hopeful as he says the next words.

"But you..." I tilt my head at him, my lips parted in silent question, and he smiles minutely before explaining. "You were there the whole time and it was so fucking obvious, wasn't it? You must have thought I was some kind of moron. I mean, I was. I am. I knew what you meant to me and I knew what I wanted and I couldn't... I couldn't reconcile it all in my head. I couldn't work it out, because I thought it was all tangled up in stuff that's off limits. But Jesus Christ, everything we've been through, all the shit I've seen. What limits? It's crazy."

Dean stops abruptly, catching his breath, eyes wide and fervent. He's sitting up from the headboard, his face inches away from mine, hands raised where he's been gesticulating passionately during his speech. He blinks at me and looks mildly shocked; his words were clearly unplanned. I feel dizzy and I'm pulsing with emotions, too many to catalogue. I've half-crushed my mostly empty beer can in my lap. I swallow heavily.

"Dean," I breathe, at a loss as to how to respond. He draws up his other knee so that both are raised in front of him, then rests his wrists almost wearily on them, hands dangling down. His gaze releases mine after what feels like a very long time and he sighs, eyes closed.

"This honesty thing is kinda exhausting," he remarks, his voice wry. I huff a rushed breath of laughter, shutting my own eyes and bowing my head.

"I like it," I murmur. There's a still silence and I realise that a new song is playing and I didn't kiss Dean. I don't care very much. Hearing Dean's perspective on his capacity to sustain a romantic relationship was far more worthwhile. Even more importantly, his conviction that he's incapable of being with someone appears to have fallen apart where I'm concerned. It's incredible and astonishing to think that I could be some kind of exception for Dean, that he might achieve something he wants purely because I love him. I've never felt necessary and needed in this way. It's something that I don't want to let go of. My smile grows as I almost sway to the song that's playing, feeling content and warm.

"Cas?" Dean's voice is gentle and I open my eyes to find that he's peering at me. He gestures to the beer can in my hand; his own empty one is sitting on the bedside table. "You want another one?"

It's clear from his light tone and guarded eyes that he doesn't want to discuss what he's just shared with me. I'm alright with that. I shake my head, still smiling, although I pass him the can to put on the table with the other one. The song that's playing ends as he turns to do so and a moment later, I recognise the introduction of that Aerosmith song of Sam's. Dean pauses, staring at the phone, before settling back against the headboard and meeting my eyes with a somewhat mischievous grin.

"Sam ever tell you how he and Jess first kissed?"


	23. Chapter 23

**Hello! Not even sure if I'm early or late or on time but I wanted to get this done before gishwhes starts. Yes, I am doing gishwhes. Yes, I am a bit terrified. By the time I upload the next chapter I'll have almost finished the hunt and maybe I shall be a changed person, enlightened and transformed by all the weirdass shit I've done in the name of Misha. We'll see.**

 **This is a short chapter but I hope (oh chuck I really hope) that the content makes up for it...? I can't tell at all if this chapter is at all good or is utterly cringeworthy. Be kind to me, dear readers. Plz.**

 **To make up for this short and potentially terrible chapter, I am about to upload a rather cute ficlet called 'On the Job'. I like it and it's lighthearted and I encourage you to check it out :) Happy gishwhes, whether you're participating or hiding in a nuclear bunker for the duration! xxx**

* * *

I let Dean tell me the story of Sam and Jess's first kiss as though I haven't heard it before, chuckling quietly at the faint pride in his voice as he describes Sam's 'smooth' maneuvering.

"Oh, man, I remember when he first told me about her on the phone, before they started dating" Dean is saying, eyes crinkled in a fond grin. "Talk about lovesick puppy! Couldn't stop raving about this smart, gorgeous, amazing girl he'd met and how she actually talked to him and how she liked the same nerdy-ass books and shit. It took me months of phone calls to convince him that he was in with a chance if he asked her out. Thought he was never gonna get it together."

I raise my eyebrows. "We've known each other for over five years."

Dean flushes, glancing away. "OK, point taken. But come on, who can resist Sam?"

"Are you implying that in contrast with Sam, you are easy to resist?" I furrow my brow at him. "I can assure you that's not the case."

Dean is blushing more than ever but to his credit, he meets my eyes directly, his voice full of false confidence. "Oh yeah? So all I've ever had to do was play a few songs and it would've been in the bag? Now you tell me, huh?"

My grasp of human phrases and sayings is growing by the day. "I believe it was 'in the bag' from the moment I raised you from perdition, Dean."

That breaks his resolve and he huffs and scoffs as he looks away again, practically glowing bright red. I grin affectionately at him as I continue. "But to tell you the truth, I already knew that story about Sam and Jess. He told me. I was actually planning to emulate his cunning strategy tonight."

Dean frowns at me for a moment before understanding dawns on his face. "My songs. That's why you had my songs?"

I nod sheepishly, feeling mildly embarrassed but certain that Dean will be amused by my admission. "Yes."

"Which one?" he asks me, sitting forward and crossing his own legs as he shifts to face me fully, mirroring me. The pose is so unlike Dean that I pause before replying, staring at him.

"Uh, 'Can't fight this feeling'. By-"

"REO Speedwagon?" he interrupts, raising an eyebrow sceptically at me. "Really?"

Before I can respond, Dean's face freezes in apparent horror. "Oh, shit. That's the song I ruined with my rambling, isn't it? You picked it out and then I started going on about how I used to have a thing for Jo... ah, fuck. I'm sorry, Cas, I'm crap at this stuff-"

"It's fine," I cut across him, shaking my head and smiling. "That song already has meaning for you. It's good that you told me those things and I'm glad that you have a nice way to remember Jo. It's better that I didn't, um, kiss you. During that song, I mean..."

I trail off, a little breathless because he's so close and he's staring at me, examining my face as though it's utterly fascinating, biting his lip enough to draw my eyes. He releases the full, pink flesh slowly from between white teeth and my own lips part as I watch intently, momentarily forgetting that I'm being observed in return. I see Dean's throat bob as he gulps and I raise my eyes to find him watching me, his irises turned a deep forest colour by abruptly dilated pupils.

"Well," he murmurs almost huskily, and I shiver. "I do have an alternative song in mind."

"Alternative song...?" I repeat in almost a whisper, feeling a now-familiar light-headedness wash over me. Dean smirks and breaks our stare as he twists around to pick up my phone, still playing music in the background. A few swipes and taps later a different song plays, the first track on the listing. I was too nervous to pay much attention to it when it played as I was waiting for Dean so I'm not entirely sure how it goes. Dean puts the phone back down and turns back to me.

"This has made me think of you a couple of times," he explains in a mutter, eyes darting across the bed instead of looking at me. I nod slowly, torn between trying to work out which song it is and trying to catch Dean's eye again. As the singing begins on the track Dean finally looks up, his gaze slightly anxious.

"So..."

I squint at him, confused. "So?"

He sighs impatiently. "I put a song on for you."

My squint deepens. "Yes, you did."

"Cas." Dean closes his eyes, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. "You had a plan for during a song, remember?"

I think about it and suck in my breath as I realise what he's saying. The track plays on, chosen by Dean because he claims it reminds him of me. As I hesitate, the lyrics from the song fill the silence between us:

 _I need you by my side_

 _To tell me it's alright_

 _'Cause I don't think I can take anymore_

 _Is this love?_

 _That I'm feeling?_

A feeling of total adoration spreads through me, reaching unprecedented levels. Swooping forward, I press my lips to Dean's.

He jerks back slightly as we make contact but I follow him insistently, our mouths fitting together smoothly as I tilt my head to make sure our noses don't bump. I break away just because I'm not sure what else to do and Dean is the one to follow this time, sinking plush lips against mine and pursing them slightly. He pulls back only to reclaim me a second later, his movements increasingly eager and ardent. His hands settle comfortably on my knees, which are almost touching his own. I instinctively cover them with my own palms and Dean's fingers twitch lightly under my touch. My eyes flutter closed.

Inhaling deeply through my nose, I quickly decide that for now I ought to just copy whatever Dean does with his mouth because it feels very pleasant to me. Dean opens his lips slowly and gradually, the sensation imbued with the mild taste of beer and the same gentle teasing that I often hear in his voice. I make a happy sort of humming noise without meaning to and Dean pulls back to huff with laughter before kissing me again, harder this time. He pulls one hand free from under mine and then I feel his touch on my neck, hesitant and warm. I'm not sure how to encourage him with my verbal abilities limited as they are so I lace my fingers through those on his other hand, still resting on my right knee.

This seems to work well; a moment later the light brushes on my neck have become a firm palm cupping the skin, fingertips massaging the hair at my nape. I groan a little breathlessly, taken aback by how good it feels. For the first time since initiating the encounter I push back against Dean, kissing him rather than being kissed. Dean makes an indistinct noise and I'm rewarded for my efforts by his fingers running deliberately and firmly up through my hair, fisting at the crown to tilt my head back slightly. This time, I moan loudly and I'm up on my knees before I can think about it, both my hands coming up to frame Dean's face as I lean down into the kiss.

"Cas-" Dean gasps against my parted lips, but a moment later my tongue swipes against his and his hands settle on my hips, grip tight. His mouth breaks from mine and he scrambles to his knees as well, kissing messily down my neck as he moves, tugging harshly at my belt loops. I let my head tip back, my mind utterly focused on physical sensation because it's all that's worth thinking about right now. Dean is so close, so open, so beautiful and everything feels so overwhelmingly amazing. Even this blurred train of thought stutters to a halt as Dean shifts forward on his knees, pressing us together from chest to thigh as his lips brush softly just below my ear. My hands slip numbly down his back, clutching fistfuls of his shirt.

It's no surprise that we're both half-hard, although I didn't even register my developing erection until now. It abruptly has most of my attention as Dean pushes his hips forward, his hands slipping around and down to ghost over my backside. He retreats quickly back up, though, resting one hand on the small of my back and moving the other to run through my hair again. I make a sound close to a whimper and twist my head to reclaim his mouth, trying not to grind against him although it's extremely difficult to control my impulses at this point. I bring my hands to his waist, partly to steady myself and partly to pull him impossibly closer, mumbling a mindless plea for more into Dean's mouth as his fingers attempt to untangle from my hair.

Quite suddenly, I'm pushed both sideways and back, landing with a thump in the centre of the bed. I blink up at Dean, who leans over me with wild, gleaming eyes and a heaving chest, arms bracketing my shoulders. I'm panting too, skin heated and thoughts muddled.

"Cas..." Dean breathes, staring down at me with something like disbelief or possibly even wonder in his gaze. I furrow my brow at him.

"Yes?" I ask. Dean's expression transforms into amusement and he drops down to kiss me again, smiling against my lips, the touch light and affectionate. I smile too, running my hands up and down his sides, trying not to squirm with the sheer exhilarating joy bubbling up inside me. This is really happening to me. Dean wants me. Dean needs me. Dean-

"Fuck," I exclaim indistinctly against Dean's mouth as, with no warning, he settles down with a thigh between my legs and surges enthusiastically against me. My hips buck and I toss my head to the side, momentarily overwhelmed. Dean seems far less affected, chuckling in a deep, distracting way as he kisses down my throat. The sound reverberates through me and I think dazedly that this is definitely how I want to spend the majority of my time from now on, underneath Dean with his warmth wrapping around me and his breath on my skin.

"Relax, this is only second base," he murmurs in my ear before biting gently at the lobe. I suck in an unsteady breath.

"I still don't know what that - oh -"

The light nipping at my earlobe turns into gentle sucking, which is not something that would have occurred to me to do but is quite delightful. Dean moves down to my pulse point and re-applies the technique there, getting a little more aggressive. I tip my head back, eagerly offering Dean more skin to which to attach his mouth. I breathe his name in a pleading tone and he bites down where my neck meets my shoulder, drawing a startled groan from me. I'm not sure why what should be a painful shock is pleasurable for me right now, but I am certain that I have never been so aroused in my entire existence, even when touching myself.

Dean is rolling his hips in a slow, steady rhythm, making a wordless mumbling sound which is swallowed up when he kisses me deeply. I draw one knee up and dig my heel into the bed, arching my back to press against the man above me. Quite by accident, my hands slip to the hem of Dean's shirt and I tug it up without thinking about it, concentrating as I am on breathing through my nose to avoid breaking contact with Dean's tongue.

The sound that Dean makes when I run my hands up his bare back is muffled but very encouraging. I relish the sensation of smooth, warm skin under my palms, firmly dragging my touch from the edge of his belt all the way up to his shoulder blades, flexing against my fingers. As I rub one hand against the dip in his lower back and trace his spine with the other, Dean's movements against me become a little more frantic, muscles bunching and clenching. He tears his mouth from mine to moan in my ear and I press desperate kisses to his jaw, stubble scratching and burning against my lips. It feels good. It all feels so incredibly good.

Without warning, Dean backs off, leaving the space between us cold and empty.


	24. Chapter 24

**Phew! gishwhes was crazy! Fun, but kinda not as fun as I hoped. Lots of stress and frustration and I rushed an item right at the end only to be ONE MINUTE too late to submit :'( sad times. Did some cool stuff though! How was everyone else's gishwhes?**

 **OK, here is the next chapter! Better late than never! And this chapter has some more Charlie and some fluffy stuff. All nice things.**

 **This chapter also clarifies the bases thing a bit more. I know some of you were confused about this rather American slang! Just want to point out that the understanding of how the bases are defined has changed over the years and is different to different people in different contexts. Personally I think it's a very heteronormative and fairly stupid way of prioritising and listing physical intimacy but it struck me as useful and relevant to use in this fic. I'm sure I'll find a way to work my personal opinion of it in later on :P anyway, enjoy!**

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Dean scrambles up onto his knees above me with my hands still tucked under his shirt. He looks gorgeous, flushed and dazed and vibrant, but I can't really appreciate that with the disappointment coursing through me at his withdrawal from our activities. I squirm a little, frustrated and confused at his sheepish expression.

"Sorry," he breathes. "Just think we oughta slow things down a bit before, um, we get too excited."

"Excited?" I repeat, panting, my voice sounding wrecked. Dean gulps as he stares down at me, still hovering over me on knees and fingertips. I pull my hands out from under his shirt and place them on his thighs, trying to think past the instinct to tug him back down and satisfy my own desire. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Dean says hastily. "Yeah, I am so OK. Are you?"

"I feel fantastic," I smile up at him. He grins and leans down to kiss me, the touch light and sweet. It takes a lot of effort not to grab him and roll us over to resume our previous level of contact. Instead, I wait until he sits back on his haunches and then I ask him a question, since he seems to want to talk now.

"Dean, what are these bases that you've been referring to?"

He blinks down at me for a moment before understanding dawns on his face. Blushing, he shuts his eyes and shakes his head.

"It's dumb, Cas, just a dumb human thing."

"Well, I'm human," I remind him patiently. "Tell me."

"I was only joking," he mumbles. I raise my eyebrows at him and he sighs. "Fine. It's just a stupid set of... I dunno, stages I guess? Stages of a physical relationship."

"Stages," I echo, still a little confused. Dean nods.

"Yeah, so like first base is hand holding and kissing and shit. Kid's stuff. Second base is, uh, well. Kinda what we were just doing. Making out."

"Making out," I repeat with an amused smile. "I like making out."

"Yeah, you're not alone, it's pretty popular," he snorts, rolling his eyes but looking pleased. I stroke my thumbs absently against the taut material of his jeans, enjoying being able to touch him freely.

"What's third base?" I prompt gently. Dean flushes brightly, shifting uncomfortably, avoiding putting much weight on my thighs.

"Look, I was kidding about reaching third base tonight. Second is fine. More than fine."

"Dean-"

"It's getting off," he almost snaps, sitting further back, radiating tension. I struggle to sit up too, trying to catch his eye as he avoids my gaze and continues. "Or clothes off, that can count too. Third base is basically everything but, you know, full on sex. If someone gets naked or comes, woohoo, third base unlocked."

I nod slowly, considering. I think about the very few orgasms I've had. I would certainly not be averse to having another one with Dean present.

Then I think about Dean having one. Watching him. Making it happen. Suppressing a weak whimper, I manage to croak out: "Third base sounds good."

Dean glances up at me, looking stunned. "Are you... I mean, I don't wanna rush things."

I stare at him. "Five years, Dean."

He rolls his eyes. "OK, OK. I get that. Still. You, um. You haven't done this stuff before, right?"

I shake my head. "Only with you."

"Good," he answers. I blink at him and he flushes once more. "I didn't mean to say that. Just ignore that."

"Alright," I shrug with a smile. Dean watches me for a moment before speaking, the words slow and weighted as though he's reluctant to say them.

"Thing is, I haven't either. I mean, obviously I have, but only with women. I never, uh, explored other options. Even when I..."

He stops and swallows, staring blankly at a spot on my chest. I reach up and cup his cheek to meet his eyes, concerned. His gaze latches onto mine and he continues in a rush, voice trembling slightly.

"Even when I kinda wanted to. Even when I really wanted to. I just never let myself think about it too much. Obviously that's all gone to shit now."

He laughs without much humour, dropping his eyes again. I stroke his cheekbone with my thumb, searching for a response to an issue I simply don't have any understanding of.

"Dean, I'm aware that humans attach a lot of importance to their own desires and preferences. I'm also aware that some desires and preferences are not well received by a lot of social and cultural circles. Humans always seem to want to judge and control each other, which confuses and troubles me. I'm sorry that it's affected you like this. You should never have felt any pressure to hide or ignore any part of yourself."

I pause and peer at Dean, who has gone very still but is leaning his cheek slightly into my hand. His eyes are closed but I'm certain he's listening intently.

"I don't think you need me to tell you that there is nothing wrong with desiring a person who is or isn't a particular gender. I know that you know that. And I may be biased on the subject, but I would argue that there's nothing wrong with attraction to a person of a separate species too."

At this, Dean snorts and shakes his head, opening his eyes and smirking at me. "Yeah, you might be a tad biased there."

"Perhaps," I allow with a smile, slipping my hand down to squeeze his shoulder. "But it does put the gender issue into perspective."

"I never made a move on you until after you became human, so the species thing doesn't technically count," Dean points out, settling more comfortably in my lap. My dampened interest in resuming 'making out' sparks but I ignore it, focusing on the conversation. I drop my hand and lace our fingers together.

"So you never experienced any desire for me when I was an angel?" I ask sceptically. Dean drops his eyes again and rubs a little nervously at his neck, opening his mouth but then closing it without answering. I pause, unsure now.

"Dean?"

"Yes, OK, like all the time, like way too much," he huffs almost angrily, snapping his eyes back up and scowling at me. I tilt my head at him, amused and rather smug.

"All the time?"

Dean groans. "Yes. All that shit you said about the way you feel being worse once you're human? Yeah, well, now you know my pain."

"But you never showed it. I never even suspected that you were attracted to me."

"Huh. You're kind of an idiot, then," Dean replies dryly. I give a low chuckle, squeezing his fingers. He breaks into a smile then, the kind of purely happy smile that should look wrong on his face because it's so far removed from how he usually looks. It doesn't, though. It looks entirely right.

"Ah, well," he says softly. "All good now."

I echo both the smile and the words, calm and content, before spontaneously tugging my hand free and slipping my arms around his middle. Pulling him closer, I press my mouth to his shoulder and just sit quietly, enjoying the feeling of completeness that washes over me with Dean in my arms. He hesitates for a moment before mirroring my actions, wrapping me up in a hug and resting his chin lightly on my shoulder. There's a silence before he speaks, his voice quiet and a little thick.

"Cas, would it be OK... I'm not trying to, uh, get to third base or anything 'cause I don't think either of us are ready tonight. But d'you think I might, um, stay the night anyway?"

"Of course," I reply without hesitation, lifting my head slightly. "There's nothing I want more."

I feel Dean relax a little against me. "OK."

"Do you want to lie down?" I offer gently. He pauses and then I feel him nod. He shuffles back and I can see how much it's taking him to keep his guard down and accept comfort and affection without resistance or pretense. His shoulders keep stiffening and he won't meet my eyes.

I sigh quietly, trying to decide how to approach this. Dean quite clearly wants to be held; I sensed that in the way he sank into my arms when I pulled him in, as well as the fact that he wants to sleep in my bed without any sexual motive. But he can't yet relax while he's letting himself be totally vulnerable. He's still too wrapped up in insecurity to just give himself over to me, no matter how much he might want to. He needs to preserve his self-image, at least for now.

Pulling the covers back, I gesture for Dean to get into the bed. He glances at me but does so, settling down against the pillows and shifting to get comfortable, eyes on the ceiling. I slide in next to him and stretch out to switch off both the music, still playing quietly, and the bedside lamp. The room turns black and silent and I feel a new sense of peace and comfort in the darkness, one that isn't there when I face it alone. Turning, I firmly settle myself against Dean's side, resting my head on his shoulder and draping an arm across his waist. He makes an odd, pleased sort of sound and tugs his arm from under me, folding it against my shoulders and back. I feel his fingers run lightly through my hair and I grin into the material of Dean's shirt.

"This is kind of an early night for me," he comments after a while, voice soft. I nod, trying not to yawn, lulled by the gentle tugging against my scalp as Dean continues to comb through my hair with his hand.

"You're not tired?"

"Nah, not really. You can sleep if you like though."

"I feel like that might be sort of boring for you."

"No," he mumbles, a smile in his voice. "It's fine with me."

I sigh, smiling too. "More thinking? You said it was dangerous in excessive amounts."

"Yeah, well, I'm a dangerous sorta guy."

"Yeah," I mutter, pressing a kiss to his shirt and hoping that he won't notice because I should probably not become too 'sappy' or whatever it is Dean complains about all the time. He moves his hand down to squeeze my shoulder and I close my eyes, allowing myself a small yawn. Dean gives a faint huff of laughter, felt more than heard, as I drift into sleep. I almost don't hear his voice, murmured into my hair.

"Goodnight, Cas."

I don't really dream of anything in particular, but Sam's face and my memories of Ezekiel's angelic form make several appearances, muddled and troubling. I'm awoken in a confusing manner, partly because it's still the middle of the night but mostly because I'm brought to consciousness by an insistent vibration against my thigh.

Squirming sleepily, I take a moment to register that I'm in Dean's arms and that he's trying to slide out from underneath me, fumbling one hand between us to reach his jeans. I wonder vaguely if he's attempting to undress without waking me, but then the vibration thrums against my leg again and I understand. Without quite lifting my face from Dean's chest - it smells good and I'm still hoping to go back to sleep very soon - I slide my own hand down to Dean's pocket and tug out his phone, bringing it up and nudging it blindly at where I assume his face is. He tenses a little as I fumble near his crotch but I ignore that, too tired to care.

"Your phone's ringing," I inform him in a barely coherent mumble, speaking mostly into his shirt. He snorts as he takes it from my hand.

"Thanks," he says in a hoarse voice, indicating that he was asleep too. Shifting to get more comfortable, I nuzzle a little at Dean's shoulder, feeling a wave of lazy euphoria wash over me. He runs his hand down my back as he answers the phone in a murmur, shifting his grip to my waist.

"Charlie?"

I can just about hear her reply: _"Hey, Dean, sorry for the late call but I figured you'd still be up."_

Dean groans a little. "Ugh, what time is it?"

 _"It's only one AM, loser. Were you asleep?"_

"Yeah, actually. Some of us need our beauty sleep. Awake now though, so what's up?"

 _"I saw the footage."_

I feel Dean's fingers dig into my waist, his pectoral tensing under my cheek. "You sent it?"

 _"I told the bar owner to send me a copy and I'll forward it straight to you; that'll probably be tomorrow. I saw it, though. Sam's eyes went all glowy and then he went outside and met up with some older dude. Talked for a bit, that's it. No audio on the footage, sorry."_

"An older dude?" Dean repeats. I'm more awake now but still feeling somewhat detached from the situation, listening quietly with my eyes closed.

 _"Yep. No idea who he was, sorry. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know what was hip and happening, but I'm sorry I woke you up."_

"That's OK," Dean replies, voice distorted by the beginnings of an enormous yawn. I make a sleepy, commiserating sort of sound and he chuckles tiredly. "Actually, you barely woke Cas up at all."

There's a short pause. _"Cas?"_

I feel Dean suddenly seize up against me and my eyes flutter open in the near-darkness. His voice is thick with dread when he responds.

"Ah."


	25. Chapter 25

**Late, sorry! And I'm afraid I have some bad news: I've gotten super behind with writing this and I won't really have time for it for another week. So I'm taking a week off. Don't expect any updates until a fortnight from now! I'm just busy atm but I am still invested in this fic, I promise. I hope you like this chapter! Much love xxx**

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 _"Oh my God. Oh my GOD! Dean!"_

My smile grows against Dean's shoulder as he stammers a response, his incoherent fumbling quickly eclipsed by Charlie's shrill voice.

 _"I FUCKING KNEW IT!"_

"Look, Charlie-"

 _"Don't even try to deny it now, Dean Winchester. You are totally banging the angel. You are such a liar."_

"Does she know that I can hear her?" I whisper as I shift to lie on my stomach next to Dean, folding my arms comfortably beneath my head. He rolls to face me, his pained expression lit up dimly by his phone screen.

"Yet again, you are broadcasting every dumbass thing you say directly to Cas himself," he informs Charlie tersely. She swears and I grin, amused.

 _"Sorry, Castiel. No disrespect meant! I'm just really happy for you both."_

I nod calmly as Dean shakes his head, scowling. "Please give Charlie my thanks, Dean."

"Write her a damn letter if you want to thank her so bad," he snaps. I smile at him and he rolls onto his back, expression grumpy and voice sharp. "Well, Charlie, not that I ain't real glad that you're pleased or whatever, but I reckon I'm gonna hang up now."

 _"Can I be maid of honour?"_

Dean ends the call with an aggressive jab of his thumb at the screen, glaring up at the phone where he holds it above his face.

"I was really hoping to put that off for a while longer," he mutters sourly after a pause. I stretch out on my stomach, still smiling. I know Dean well, and he's not really angry or upset. Just threatened and embarrassed, for no good reason.

"It's nice that she cares about you like that," I tell him gently. "She's like a sister to you, isn't she?"

Dean rolls his eyes, turning to face me again and mirroring my position with an arm pillowing his head. "Yeah, and I'm pretty sure little sisters are supposed to be the most annoying assholes on the planet."

"Well, then, Charlie is simply being a good little sister."

Dean pauses, eyeing me with mild irritation. He huffs as he switches his phone off and I hear him putting it on the bedside table and shifting back to face me again. "Stop using logic on me."

I shrug tiredly, eyelids drooping. Dean scoots closer to me, reaching out to rub tentatively at my lower back. I close my eyes and hum with contentment. When he speaks his voice is barely more than a murmur.

"I actually mind a hell of a lot less than I thought."

"Hmm?"

"People being all happy and shit. About us. I thought it'd bother me but what's bothering me is that it doesn't really bother me."

I struggle to follow along with Dean's low voice, my mind a sleepy haze. I crack my eyes back open, peering into the darkness at where I think his face probably is. My voice is a perplexed mumble when I reply. "What?"

Dean sighs as though I'm being exasperating. "Don't worry about it. Go to sleep."

"OK." I shut my eyes again, wriggling a little to get more comfortable. I feel Dean inch closer again, almost touching me although our only point of contact is still his warm hand on my back. With a last surge of effort, I roll towards him, letting his hand slide around my waist to rest on my stomach as my back settles against his chest. He tenses in surprise but I mumble his name happily, my blurry thoughts turning as smug as my smile when he relaxes and exhales against my neck.

I have found the best sleeping spot in the universe.

I awaken once more in the darkness to find that Dean has moved in his sleep and has snaked an arm beneath me to hug my waist from behind, squeezing his arms around my middle, snoring faintly into my shoulder. I try to shift and go back to sleep but it's impossible to get comfortable on my side with the bulk of Dean's arm underneath me, digging into my ribs and forcing my spine to curve oddly no matter how I wriggle. After re-positioning myself half a dozen times, I accept defeat and turn onto my stomach, breaking Dean's hold. He mumbles groggily, one hand fisting in the side of my shirt. I wait but he appears to sink back into sleep quickly and it doesn't take long for me to follow.

When morning comes, I open my eyes to find that I'm on the wrong side of the bed and at first, that's all that my sleepy mind can register. I stretch with a sigh, slowly easing my eyes open, further confused that my light is on. Didn't I switch it off last night? Or did Dean?

At that thought, my eyes open fully and I scramble up onto my elbows, looking around wildly. My dismay at Dean's absence is short-lived, however. The man in question is perched on the edge of the bed with a steaming mug, sipping calmly at it and eyeing me with fond amusement. I blink at him, relief making me smile even as I wonder aloud how long he's been awake.

"About two hours," he replies easily. I groan, dropping my head back down. Dean chuckles. "It's not even nine AM, don't worry. You're not that lazy."

"Hmm," I croak. I stretch again - I really enjoy stretching - and drag myself over to his side of the bed, which is actually my side. Dean nods seriously, although his eyes are twinkling.

"Yeah, I know. Sleeping on the left was weird for me. I won't steal your spot next time."

I don't answer but I nudge him with my hip, feeling lazy and happy, smiling into my folded arms. Dean snorts and waves the mug of coffee slowly near my face, tantalising me with its faint aroma.

"I added sugar."

I twist my head to peer up at him. "But you don't like sugar in your coffee."

He shrugs. "Ain't that bad. You want some?"

I stare at him for a moment before nodding and heaving myself up to sit cross-legged, grimacing at my lopsided and rumpled clothes. I feel too warm, now that I'm awake enough to think about it.

"We shouldn't have slept in our clothes," I huff, tugging my plaid shirt off rather clumsily as my motor skills are still arranging themselves. Dean makes a speculative humming sound in response and I look up as I finally rid myself of the garment, dropping it in a heap beside me and straightening my t shirt.

"What?" I ask as I accept the coffee he's holding out. He grins and glances away.

"Maybe next time there should be less clothes," he agrees. I roll my eyes as I gulp down some coffee. It's sweet, which I like and which I know for a fact Dean doesn't like. He clearly made this coffee for me, which is equally sweet.

"I have no problem with that idea," I assure him. "It's you who wants to... what is the phrase? Take things slow?"

It's Dean's turn to roll his eyes, leaning back on one hand and turning slightly to face me better. "Just trying to be a gentleman, jeez."

I shrug and offer the coffee back to him. He shakes his head and I drink the rest of it in one, tipping my head back and draining the mug. I wipe my hand carelessly across my mouth as I lean back and set the mug down on the bedside table, misjudging the distance and hitting it harder than I meant to. I swear under my breath and Dean snorts.

"You were way less messy as an angel, you know that?"

I pause, thinking about it. He's right. At no point in my angelic existence was I rumpled and uncoordinated from just waking up, and the absence of food or drink meant that I never had to wipe my mouth clean. I shrug again, trying not to feel mournful that I'm lacking grace in more ways than one.

"Being human is not overly dignified," I comment, stretching my arms up above my head. Dean's gaze darts obviously across my body and I suppress a satisfied smile, holding the pose for a moment longer before dropping my hands back to my lap. Dean blinks and glances away again.

"Has Charlie emailed?" I ask him. He shakes his head.

"Well, she hadn't emailed when I checked again ten minutes ago," he amends, looking worried. I reach out and lay a hand on his knee, squeezing slightly.

"I'm sure she'll send it soon. And once she does, we'll have a significant clue as to what Ezekiel is doing."

Dean nods in an automatic sort of way, clearly barely listening to me. I sigh and withdraw my hand but he catches it suddenly, turning properly towards me and drawing one knee up onto the bed. He grins at me, lacing our fingers together.

"Your hair is a disaster, man," he informs me, quite obviously changing the subject from his concern over his brother. I raise my eyebrows at him coolly but bring my free hand up to verify his statement. He's right again; I can feel the wild tufts going in all directions.

"I think that 'disaster' is a strong term, but you may have a point."

"I like it," he admits, eyes fixed on the so-called disaster. I smile and Dean bites his lip slightly as he raises a hand, lightly combing his fingers from my temple back over my ear. I decide quickly that I won't be cutting it shorter any time soon. Dean's hand comes to rest curled around the back of my head and his eyes hold mine, commanding my attention as he tugs slightly and I lean forward. He looks strangely nervous, as though I might reject him or pull away. What a ludicrous notion.

My eyes flutter closed a moment after his and he kisses me slowly, thoroughly. The taste of coffee is sweet on my lips and I can't tell who the flavour is coming from, which I like. Leaning into the contact, I find it all too easy to lose all thought and exist purely in the moment, dissolving into sensation, like falling asleep but infinitely more pleasurable.

It feels like we kiss for a long time and I'm startled when Dean slides his other hand up my thigh. I almost forgot that there was anything else to do, anything else in the world. I jerk back a little and we break apart.

"Sorry," breathes Dean, withdrawing his hands, cheeks flushed and lips a little swollen. I shake my head, feeling relaxed and restless at the same time.

"No, don't be."

He stares at me and I wait, not sure what's going on in his mind. He looks flustered, distracted, excited. He has a familiarly reckless air to him, one I've seen before when he unwisely mocks a powerful creature or charges into a dangerous situation. Dean has never been a patient or cautious man. I tilt my head at him, raising my eyebrows, still breathing a little fast and feeling twitchier the longer he pauses. I can clearly see that he's trying to talk himself out of something and I find myself hoping that he doesn't, because I'm fairly sure that 'something' is kissing me again. The seconds drag on and I wonder whether I should make the decision for him. But I can't, he needs to be in control of this side of our relationship because he's the one who has issues with it. But-

"Fuck it."

The words are muttered so quietly that I almost don't hear them and I barely blink at him before he all but tackles me, tumbling me back onto the bed with a slightly jarring kiss. I make a startled sound, hands coming instinctively up to grip his shoulders and knees falling apart as Dean settles between them. He wastes no time, dropping half his weight onto me and pushing my shirt up to my ribs, fingertips warm and firm against my sides. His mouth is demanding, tongue slipping past my lips without the hesitancy and gentleness that he's shown before. I don't have time to decide whether I like this better because both his hands are on my ribs now and he's pushing my t shirt up to my shoulders, for what purpose I'm not sure but I don't care because the more bare skin he touches, the less coherent thought I'm capable of.

Dean's fingers skate across my chest and I hiss into his mouth as he runs them roughly across my nipples, shocked at the sensation. A few seconds later, his lips leave mine and I don't have time to wonder why because he's promptly dropped them to my sternum, mouthing wetly at the skin there. I hold my breath and my suspicions are delightfully confirmed as he runs his tongue boldly across one nipple, drawing it into his mouth and then biting lightly at it. I whimper, pressing my nails insistently into the back of his head, my other hand straying unconsciously to the other side of my chest. Dean clearly notices because he catches it and pins my wrist to the bed even as he licks and sucks enthusiastically at where I was trying to touch. I'm making sounds I've never heard before, writhing beneath Dean, desperate.

Dean grabs my free arm and catches hold of my wrist, pinning it to match my other one. As he does this he kisses his way up my chest to where my shirt is and the cloth barrier makes him pause. The brief hesitation is enough to spark my impatience; it feels like I'm burning, consumed by a frantic, rising need for more and I can't handle even a moment of less. I wrench my hands free, eyes opening and chest heaving.

I don't even register what I'm doing until I've already flipped Dean onto his back, my own surprise matched in the wide green gaze below me.


	26. Chapter 26

**SORRYYYYYYY this is several days late. For being late.** **This chapter really stumped me and I'm pretty nervous about posting it but I got it beta'd by my wonderful champion reviewer Alicemurdock and it's hopefully not a huge disappointment. I tried really hard and I'm proud of myself for overcoming my mental block about smut and just getting it done, regardless of whether it's any good. But I have been told it's not at all bad and I'm cautiously optimistic that you guys will all agree! Let me know!**

 **Updates will now be fortnightly rather than weekly. Sorry about that (but not very because we all know how I feel about pressuring authors and I have shit to do).**

 **Since we last spoke I've binge watched 'Fresh Meat' and it's pretty good and I have a new ship to sail, the HMS Voregon. May or may not write something for it. Probably not if we're being realistic but I WANT to because even though it's not confirmed canon, it's implied potential canon and no one associated with the show seems opposed to it and it's nice to feel positive and fuzzy about a slash ship rather than sad and tired, as I often feel about destiel. Anyway, Voregon 5eva. That is all.**

* * *

I freeze for long enough for Dean to catch his breath and speak, amusement and arousal warring in his expression.

"Deja vu, Cas..."

I blink down at him, nonplussed until the familiar scenario sparks recognition within me. I'm straddling Dean, a little lopsided, leaning forward onto hands that frame Dean's head on the mattress.

Just like when we first kissed.

I break into a breathless chuckle, feeling my cheeks heat up as Dean smirks up at me, settling his hands comfortably on my hips. "Ah. Sorry. I didn't mean to, I just... I like being on top of you."

I've developed enough human propriety to know that the words are odd even as they're leaving my mouth. I'm expecting Dean to grimace or laugh at me but instead he shuts his eyes, jaw clenching as he makes a small, indecipherable sound in his throat. Fingers dig into my sides and his voice is husky when he speaks.

"Cas-"

"I like being underneath you too," I hasten to assure him, squirming a little because Dean holding me so tightly feels really fucking good and if I just shift forward another millimetre...

"Fuck," he grits out, eyes flying open as I push my hips forward into both his grip and his growing erection. I bite my lip, pleased.

"Is that a request?" I quip, leaning lower and smirking slightly. Dean huffs in apparent disbelief.

"Shut up," he half-laughs, craning his neck up to press a demanding kiss against my lips. His hands slip back where they rest, hesitate and then keep going, sliding boldly around to cup my backside. What does Dean call it, muttering approval at the lingerie-clad buttocks in his magazines? 'Ass'? I hum with pleasure and Dean laughs again into my mouth, squeezing and kneading my ass a little with his hands, tugging me closer and lifting his own hips to grind up against me. He breaks away again, dropping his head back to stare at me, panting slightly.

"This is bizarre," he comments, but he's grinning, glowing with giddy excitement. I brush another kiss against his smile, warm all over.

"I love it," I murmur, dragging my lips across his cheek and down to his ear, sliding my fingers into his hair. I whisper there, my voice coming out more fervent than I planned. "I love you."

Dean's breath hitches and he winds his arms around my waist. He squeezes me lightly and then returns his hands to my hips as I sit up a little, enough to meet his eyes. They're soft and dark, wandering slowly over my face as I watch him. I feel a shiver across my skin.

"Didn't you say something about less clothes next time?" I say in a rush, heart rate picking up with nervous excitement. Sex is usually low on my list of general interests and even regarding Dean, it's not something that strikes me as very important. But every time I'm close to him like this it quickly demands my whole attention and I struggle to keep up with my own intense reactions and desires. Right now, the totally reasonable prospect of Dean not wanting to take off his clothes is a disproportionately glum one for me.

But Dean's eyes light up at my spurious question. Warm fingers slide underneath my shirt, lifting it halfway and then pausing. Enthusiastically, I grasp it and yank the t shirt off, flinging it carelessly onto the floor.

"Your turn?" I prompt hopefully, eyeing the green button-down that looks fantastic on but is currently too opaque for my liking. Dean snorts with amusement even as his eyes trail over my naked torso. He nods, slowly and absent-mindedly, clearly distracted. I take that as permission and begin unbuttoning his shirt, ignoring his flinch of surprise. He looks down at my fingers and then glances back up at me, flushing a little.

"Eager?" he teases, eyebrows raised. I nod seriously and he gives a pleased grin.

"Can't say I blame you," he says airily, scrambling up onto his elbows and winking at me. I roll my eyes but focus sharply as I reach the last button and carefully push the material off of strong, freckled shoulders. I take a deep breath as I survey all of the gorgeous bare flesh I'm unveiling, giddy that it's mine to explore.

I look at Dean to tell him that he has nice skin - nice everything - but he's staring again at my chest, lips parted. I remember how they felt touching me there and the urge for contact rises insistently. Leaning forward with one hand braced behind Dean, I fit the other to his jaw and kiss him slowly. He kisses me back with a now-familiar passion, tracing my lips with his tongue and nipping at them with his teeth. I writhe in his lap, bringing our groins briefly together again.

Dean bucks his hips without warning, gasping against my lips. I deepen the kiss, head spinning as he does it again, insistently. I whimper, fingers fisting in his hair as I begin to move with purpose, rutting against him. He mirrors the movements and I feel how hard we both are, heat burning through two layers of denim. It feels amazing, but it's not enough.

"Dean…" I groan, hurriedly withdrawing my tongue from his mouth and shifting back to peer at him. "If you aren't willing to do third base, I think we should stop."

I'm unhappy that I'm suggesting such a thing, but the thought of pushing this any further and then stopping is a little horrifying. Dean's eyes are all but black, fully blown as he stares up at me. He gulps and my eyes catch on his throat.

"I was probably a bit hasty with the whole third base thing," he rasps after a pause. I close my eyes at the sound of his voice like this, low and rough. "Third base is probably absolutely fine. And we waited a whole night. That's pretty damn-"

He doesn't get any further as I knock him back down to the mattress with an enthusiastic kiss. Groaning, he winds his fingers through my hair and responds enthusiastically for several seconds, before he pushes me back and struggles to sit up too. His breathing is ragged and the look in his eyes makes me feel light-headed, but as I watch he seems to calm down again, smiling wryly at me.

"You're one hell of an ego boost, you know that?"

I nod firmly. "Good. You need to improve your self-confidence."

Dean snorts but my eyes and mind are straying, down to the obvious tent in Dean's jeans from his penis… no, he calls it a dick, he made enough jokes about Dick Roman for me to know that. But what's the other word he uses sometimes? Cock? His cock is clearly as uncomfortably confined as mine. Shifting back a little, I reach down to unbuckle his belt where it digs into a slight roll in his stomach, soft and padded over the hard muscles underneath. I decide that I want to kiss that roll. Having pulled the belt open, I push lightly at Dean's shoulder to lay him back down and achieve my goal. Instead, he catches my wrist, breathing fast again.

"Cas, no. I wanna take care of you."

I meet Dean's eyes with some surprise, not quite sure what he means. He looks almost shy but is holding my gaze, cheeks flushed prettily. I blink in confusion.

"You do take care of me. You let me into your home-"

"No," he interrupts with a chuckle, shoulders relaxing slightly. "First off, it's your home too now. And secondly, I meant more as in…"

Instead of continuing his sentence, Dean takes me by the waist and eases me off of his lap, eyes locked onto mine. He gently maneuvers me to lie on my back and then he straddles me lightly, in a mirror image of how we were before. I exhale unsteadily as I gaze up at him, feeling suddenly more vulnerable like this. I trust Dean though. And he looks wonderful from this angle, chest and shoulders broad and solid, jawline a natural work of art. When I saw Dean primarily as his soul, it wouldn't have mattered either way what he looked like physically. It still doesn't, really. But now that I'm seeing him through human eyes, it seems that the exterior definitely matches the interior in his case. He's beautiful.

My eyelids flutter as Dean runs his fingertips down across my chest and stomach, gaze following in apparent fascination. He reaches my belt and unbuckles it faster than I did, followed promptly by the button and zipper. I hold my breath as he tugs at both my jeans and my boxers, lifting my hips to help him pull them down my thighs. My cock springs free and bobs a little, curving back up towards my stomach, pink and swollen but still a contrast to the rough, dark curls beneath it. I watch Dean closely and I see the way he freezes, staring at it with wide eyes.

"Are you alright?" I whisper. He jumps slightly and looks up at me, swallowing nervously.

"Yeah," he answers automatically. I frown at him and he takes a deep breath, eyes straying back down to my erection, conspicuous and demanding before him. He pauses before speaking again. "It's weird for me. I've never touched another dude's dick before. And now I'm sitting here and it's like, I want to. I want you. But I don't really know how to stop caring that it's a dick. But it's just a dick. I have one. It shouldn't matter. Maybe it won't, in a moment, maybe I'll just get over it. It just gave me a shock. Which is dumb."

He finishes this speech with a false, tense laugh, trailing off into an uncertain glance back up at my face. I shake my head hastily. "It's not dumb."

Dean stares at me, looking unconvinced.

"It's just a dick," he repeats, a touch of frustration in his voice. I smile fondly.

"Yes, it is," I agree placidly. "Just like yours. And you don't have to do anything at all, Dean. There's nothing wrong wi- oh, fuck-"

I stutter into silence as Dean, apparently no longer interested in reassurances, reaches out and firmly wraps a hand around my cock, squeezing lightly and pulling upwards a little. It feels indescribably different from my own touch, in a very good way. He watches me, lips quirking in the ghost of a smirk, before returning his attention to his handiwork.

"Just like mine," he mutters to himself. "OK. I'll just do the stuff that I like. Easy."

"Yeah," I gasp, dropping my head back and squeezing my eyes shut. Dean drags his fisted hand up to the tip and swirls the pad of his thumb around, firm against the unbelievably sensitive skin there. I groan helplessly as he loosens his grip and drops his hand back down, only to do it all again, a little faster.

"That is so good," I murmur, my voice slurred, on the edge of a moan. Dean squeezes a little more and picks up his pace, fingers tightening and twisting and tugging noises of pleasure out of me. I begin to lift my hips in an involuntary attempt to match his movements and then, as Dean settles into a brisk speed, I realise that I'm trying to thrust into his hand. Clenching my fists and my jaw, I fight to keep still. It's ludicrously difficult.

"Dean, Dean…" I pant, forcing my eyes open to check on him. He's leaning forward on his spare hand, hovering over me, gaze focused on the sight of my now red and tumid cock as it slides through his loose fist. His mouth is hanging open, breath coming fast. I grab hold of his thighs, fingers digging in harshly. He looks up and meets my eyes and I'm not able to form coherent words or alter my facial expression much but I try to communicate that I'm concerned about him, mostly through further tightening my grip on his legs either side of me. He winces and the pace of his hand on me falters; I whimper weakly, eyes closing involuntarily.

"Cas," I hear Dean murmur. Then he's kissing me, squeezing and pumping faster between us and it's too much. I can't work out if the sensations overwhelming me are physical or emotional or both but everything falls apart at once.

It feels like flying.

When I become aware of my physical existence again it's clear that less time has passed than I'd have thought, if I'd been considering such things. I can feel sweat cooling on my skin, which is oddly soothing. The exception to this is the mess on my stomach, which is still at an unpleasantly tepid temperature level. My limbs are heavy and my head is swimming. I tip my head back, stretching my neck, and open my eyes blearily. I meet Dean's wide green gaze immediately. He's still straddling me, leaning directly over me on both hands, peering at me in what looks like fascination. I blink up at him and he blinks back.

"Hey," he whispers. I blink again.

"Hey," I attempt, wincing at the wrecked sound of my own voice. I clear my throat, frowning. "Sorry. Hello, Dean."

Dean grins faintly. "You seemed to enjoy that."

I break into a pleased but embarrassed smile, glancing away. "Yes. I did."

Quite suddenly, it occurs to me that Dean did not experience what I just experienced. I look back up at him, brow furrowing. "Dean, you're still sexually unsatisfied. I should return the favour, as I believe the saying goes."

He blushes, finally sitting back on his haunches. I sit up too, grimacing at the bodily fluids all over my torso. Dean is rambling about me not being obliged to do anything for him and I'm about to interrupt him when I catch sight of his abdomen. It's barely a drop, clearly a result of him hovering so low over me when I came. But it's there, conspicuous against his tanned skin. My semen got splashed onto Dean's stomach and I can't seem to stop staring at it.

"What is it?" Dean is saying, following my gaze down at himself. "What are you…"

He falls quiet as he sees it too and I watch his expression turn to alarm, which quickly intensifies as I reach out towards him. I'm not even aware that I'm wiping it off with my thumb until I've done it and then I freeze, thumb hovering between us in mid air, panic building in my mind. It's surely too much for Dean, me ejaculating onto him and then attempting to remove it with my bare hands. And what am I supposed to do now? I meet his eyes, a slightly scared look on my face. He stares at me blankly for several seconds before, without any warning, grabbing my hand and closing his lips around my thumb.

It's over before I can react. Dean pulls away, releases my hand and fixes me with an almost defiant look, despite his face steadily turning scarlet. My mouth has dropped open.

"Seemed like the practical thing to do," Dean explains defensively. I snap my mouth shut and nod dazedly.

"Of course. It was."

"It's not weird."

"It's not at all weird."

"Right. So, you know, stop looking at me like it's weird!"

I survey him critically. "Dean, my perspective doesn't really provide parameters for me to judge what is weird and what is not. But what you just did was not what I would assume is considered 'weird'. I am looking at you in an unusual way because I am surprised and fairly aroused by your actions."

Dean raises his eyebrows at me, relaxing slightly. "Aroused?"

"Well, not physically," I allow, glancing downwards. "I'm not currently capable of that. Which reminds me: you have not been, as you say, 'looked after'. Can I look after you?"

Dean chuckles but shakes his head. "That's one hell of an offer, Cas. But… I'm actually alright for now. I mean, I'm still… I could probably do with it. Some, uh, looking after. But I kind of feel like I've done a lot and it's a lot, you know? And it's not like I didn't, uh, enjoy myself. Because I did. But that, in itself… I kinda need a break. From all this. Just for now?"

I'm already nodding, trying to cut off Dean's anxious dialogue. "It's fine. I completely understand. Maybe I can go and clean myself up while you check to see if Charlie's emailed you?"

"Are you sure everything's OK?"

I smile and lean forward, brushing a light kiss against his lips. "Far more than that. But you need space and time. I don't begrudge you those things."

Dean is peering uncertainly at me. "I just don't know if I'm handling this right."

I shrug, my mouth quirking. "You handled me fine."

Dean shuts his eyes. "I wasn't being literal, Cas."

I smile widely. "I know."


	27. Chapter 27

**Here we are, a new chapter for y'all! :D  
Thanks very much to Alicemurdock for again looking this chapter over while I fretted about the next one (you'll see why when you read the next one). Lovely but honest as always :)  
Trouble in paradise in this chapter ;) Hope you don't get too stressed out over it! How intriguing are these new S12 promos and pics? Had to laugh at the interviews with the showrunners where they had clips of Dean and Cas hugging and gazing at each other over the words 'established relationships'. Jesus, they've lost all subtlety. **

* * *

I stand in the shower for a long time, smiling vaguely at the wall. I wonder a few times if I might have somehow hallucinated everything that's happened over the past several days. Some kind of djinn, maybe? But eventually, I conclude that it's real. Dean and I are really, actually a couple. I'm going to stay here and we're going to be together and I can be close to him without feeling like I'm breaking a rule.

Now we just need to sort out the situation with Sam and Ezekiel and somehow, everything might actually be alright. It's an intoxicating thought.

I ruminate on that as I lather myself up with soap, meticulously cleaning every inch of my skin. Now that Dean is going to be coming into close contact with my body, I have to be very vigilant about personal hygiene. I would never have needed to consider such things as an angel. I sigh wistfully, longing yet again for the convenience and security that came with having grace.

But then again, as an angel I was never able to overcome the barriers between myself and Dean. I always hovered on the edges of his life, a regular presence who knew him to the core in some ways but was a total stranger in others. Our friendship before I lost my grace was strong and complicated and always developing, but there was so much hidden there that I wasn't equipped to uncover. Without becoming human, the gap between us might have always remained unbridged and I might still be feeling that sad frustration, knowing that my power to help and heal Dean is limited and ever met with resistance.

And I'm sure that neither of us would be smiling the way I am now.

Finally turning the water off, I step out of the shower and rub my hair vigorously with my towel, remembering the way that Dean wound his fingers into it and tugged as we kissed. I feel the echo of the sensation low in my stomach and I sigh appreciatively as I wrap the towel around my waist. I brush my teeth quickly. It must be lunchtime already, but I still want to make sure that I'm keeping up with a good dental hygiene routine. Yet another dragging weight attached to mortal existence.

I return to my bedroom. As I shut the door behind me I realise that there's music playing. It's my phone, lying on a pillow, volume low. I pause and listen.

It's my playlist from last night. Dean must have put it on and left it for me. He also seems to have straightened the sheets on the bed and taken the beer and the coffee mug away. I smile softly and hum along to the music as I get dressed. Picking up my phone to turn the music off, I see that it's almost one o'clock in the afternoon. My stomach growls. Definitely lunchtime.

Of course, everyone has had the same thought at the same time. I pause in the kitchen doorway, watching as both Sam and Kevin smirk in unison at me before turning the expression onto Dean. He's eating, so he salutes vaguely at me and then scowls at his brother and housemate.

"Oh, fuck off," he says around a mouthful of some sort of bread. I grin as I go to pour myself a glass of water. Sam gave me a speech soon after I fell about the importance of staying hydrated as a human. Grabbing a plate and cutlery, I settle at the table and peer into the large pot sitting in the middle. Some sort of pasta with a greenish sauce. It smells quite good but I'm more intrigued by the crumpled, half-full package of aluminium foil sitting on a plate. Kevin, opposite me, takes a round piece of bread out of it as I watch. It's toasted and oozing what looks like butter with something green in it.

"Garlic bread," he tells me, eyeing it almost reverently. "Food of the gods. Or, you know, angels. Try some!"

I take a piece and then serve some of the pasta onto my plate too. Dean is quick to inform me that Sam did the cooking today, not him.

"S'why there's so much green," he explains with a slight grimace, glancing at Sam who raises cool eyebrows at him.

"Green food is good for you," Sam says with an air of having repeated this many times. "Don't you want Cas to look after himself? Be healthy?"

"Yeah," chimes in Kevin, and I pause with the garlic bread halfway to my mouth, watching him with growing dread. "Don't you want Cas to keep his strength up, Dean?"

His tone of voice makes it very clear that his words carry some level of innuendo, although it seems vague to me. Dean glares at the prophet, cheeks predictably heating up. "Said it before and I'll say it again, Kevin: fuck off."

I bite into the garlic bread as he speaks, assessing the crunchy texture and the way the warm butter soaks onto my tongue. It's a satisfying flavour. I nod approvingly and lift a forkful of pasta with my fork. It's pleasant to eat, if a little plain.

"Thank you for lunch, Sam. It's very good."

Dean rolls his eyes but then looks at me again, fingers drumming on the table. He's finished his lunch, while Sam and Kevin are still eating. I hold Dean's gaze for a moment and he widens his eyes at me, clearly trying to convey some sort of meaning, glancing down to my meal and then back up at me, giving an infinitesimal but urging nod. I can only assume that he wants me to eat faster. Slightly confused, I do so, chewing and swallowing in haste.

"So Cas," Sam says, turning in his seat to face me, pasta-piled fork in mid-air. "After lunch I was thinking we could have another look at all the info we have so far on the angels post-fall? We're starting to build up a pretty good picture of the situation."

I open my mouth to accept this offer but Dean beats me to it, speaking fast.

"Uh, no, Cas, we had that thing, remember?"

I blink at him, trying to remember if we made plans for this afternoon. I'm sure we didn't. Dean's eyes are boring into mine and he raises his eyebrows meaningfully. Beside me, Sam mutters under his breath before raising his voice.

"Dean, seriously? I'm glad you're comfortable and things are going well, but can you try to keep it in your pants at least some of the time?"

My mouth drops open a little. Was Dean trying to draw me into another sexual encounter? It seems unlikely, as he's glaring at Sam in clear outrage.

"What the fuck?!" he splutters indignantly. "You think I… we… "

"It does totally seem like you're trying to get Cas back to the bedroom, yeah," supplies Kevin, taking another piece of garlic bread. Dean flushes. My own cheeks feel very warm.

"That is not what I was trying to do," snaps Dean. He finally looks at me, eyes wide. "I swear that's not what I was trying to do."

I shrug and nod at him, ignoring the thought that I wouldn't have minded if that had been exactly what Dean was trying to do. Beside me, Sam snorts.

"Yeah, right. So what is this 'thing' that you and Cas have planned?"

Dean looks oddly caught out, slightly panicked gaze fixed on his brother as he opens his mouth but doesn't speak for several long seconds. I frown at his odd behaviour, turning it over in my head until suddenly, I realise.

"Oh!" I exclaim, drawing everyone's eyes to me. I push back from the table, picking up my mostly-cleared plate and empty glass. "Yes, sorry, we have to go. Dean and I have already arranged what we're going to do after lunch."

"Yeah, each other," mutters Kevin, sprawled back in his chair and smirking at the table top. Dean whacks him in the arm before grabbing his own plate.

"So yeah, sorry Sammy, gotta go," he says firmly, standing up. I rise with him, but Sam looks between us with a growing frustration.

"OK, what the hell? If you're not going to get naked, why can't you tell me what you're up to?"

Dean looks blank. "Well… it's just…"

"We're getting naked," I interrupt him impatiently. "You were right all along. Well done."

Dean shoots me a look of utter fury as Sam eyes me with satisfaction. "I knew it!"

"God damn it," Dean grits out, closing his eyes. "Yep. Guessed it, Sam. OK, we're going now."

"Have fun," Sam smirks as I leave my dish and glass in the sink to be washed later. Dean is close behind me and I can feel his glare, so I avoid his eyes. Kevin grimaces at us as we both hurry out, Sam's chuckles fading behind us.

"Fuck's sake, Cas," whispers Dean as soon as we're ten feet up the hallway. "You couldn't come up with a different reason for us to disappear together?"

"Sorry," I mumble back, my apology genuine. "But the most important thing to ensure was that Ezekiel doesn't suspect our… suspicions."

"Whatever," he huffs, grabbing my arm and pulling me hurriedly into his bedroom. His grip is strong and warm and I briefly wish that 'getting naked' was more than just a cover story. But a cover story it nonetheless is.

"Charlie emailed?" I ask without preamble as soon as Dean pulls the door shut. He nods tensely.

"You aren't gonna believe this."

He's moved over to the bed and is opening his laptop as he speaks. I hover beside him, feeling anxious but eager to discover what secrets are being kept by the angel who is supposedly protecting Sam.

"I'm sure I'll believe it, Charlie seems very honest," I assure Dean as he signs in to his email account.

"It's just an expression," he murmurs absently, clicking on an email. He opens the attached video file and stands back, brow low over his focused gaze. I follow it to the screen and watch.

Sam steps out of the bar into the parking lot, everything about his posture telling me that Ezekiel is in control. He turns his head and walks stiffly to where a figure skulks in the shadow of a vending machine, shorter and wider than Sam. Dean leans down and fast forwards through over ten minutes of footage. When he plays it normally again both Ezekiel and the hidden figure have barely moved, but have clearly spoken in detail about something. Ezekiel inclines his head coldly and gestures towards the parking lot, obviously telling his companion to leave. The shadow pauses and then holds out a hand to shake. Ezekiel stares at it for a long moment before shaking firmly. I lean forward, holding my breath as the shadowy figure steps forward to walk past Ezekiel…

"No," I whisper as Dean pauses the grainy image.

Metatron looks tired and messy and the video quality is terrible, but there's no mistaking it. It's him.

"Looks like Ezekiel and Metadouche are buddying up," Dean's grim voice echoes in my ears. "Whatever they were talking about, I don't like it. I especially don't like that handshake at the end."

I'm still gazing at the screen, horror and anger building up inside me. I thought that Metatron was done. He ruined me, took the core of my very being, destroyed the lives of our entire species. Why can't he settle for that and crawl away somewhere instead of following my family around like a plague?

"... some kind of deal," Dean is saying beside me. "I mean, we already know he's got a talent for manipulation."

I flinch, although Dean clearly wasn't trying to bring up my mistakes to shame or hurt me. The reminder still does both, though. I shut my eyes, fists clenching at my sides. Dean touches my elbow, gentle and hesitant.

"Hey, sorry. Cas, I know you're angry-"

"I hate him," I hiss, eyes opening. I wrench away from Dean, shoulders tight, almost snarling as I speak. "He needs to be stopped. I don't care what he's attempting with Ezekiel, whatever it is needs to stop."

"OK, well, no disagreements here-"

"We have to go after him," I interrupt, my voice harsh. Dean frowns at me.

"Ezekiel's gonna suspect something if we just disappear. And I don't want to leave Sam alone with him."

I turn away in frustration, pacing towards the door and then halting. "Alright, so we need to remove Ezekiel from Sam and trap him. Then we need to find out what is happening with Metatron, where he is and what he's planning, and-"

"Let's stick to one thing at a time," Dean cuts in, having followed behind me. I turn to him, irritated, and see him looking oddly troubled as he watches me.

"You don't think that bringing Metatron to justice is important?" I ask sharply.

"Obviously, yeah, it's important," Dean snaps, his worried expression turning annoyed. "Clearly it's the most important thing to you. Excuse me if I'm a little more concerned about my brother, whose life might be in danger, y'know?"

Fury flashes through me, shockingly potent. I feel almost like an angel again, but not the angel I became over the years following my rebellion. I feel like the Castiel who chafed against Heaven's command, who was drowning in frustration and directionless anger, who fought viciously in battles purely to feel some level of power and control, who took lives without mercy because my own life was empty and infuriating. I feel bitter and burning, fists curled at my sides. "I know full well what your priorities are, Dean. But Metatron stole my grace and turned me into the angel who closed off Heaven. My kin have no home and it's my fault, and Metatron did that to me. To all of us. Except now, there is no us, just them, because I'm a fucking human-"

"So that's what this is about," Dean practically sneers, not backing down despite the unpleasant tension growing in the few inches between us. "Your wounded ego?"

My mouth drops open, the rage and hurt bubbling up within me, filling me up, pushing through my skin, no room for anything else as I glare into Dean's eyes. He glares right back, jaw set.

In the hallway, I hear footsteps.


	28. Chapter 28

**Hi! For some unfathomable reason I put myself through the stress of writing MORE smut so that's what you get this chapter. It is dodgy smut but it would be a LOT dodgier if the lovely Alicemurdock hadn't beta'd it for me, so thank her if you like it. Berate me if you do not. She's a massive Dean!girl and I'm a dedicated Cas!girl so between us we have things covered.  
** **Thank you for the enthusiastic response to my new fic 'Resurrect and Reconcile' :D I will be updating that soon.  
** **Guys I read this AMAZING fic recently on AO3. It's called 'Ninety One Whiskey' by komodobits. Might be my favourite destiel fic ever? Certainly my fave destiel AU fic, and yes I have read T &S. Slow burn and historically accurate and detailed and gripping and emotional and YES READ IT kthxbai**

* * *

The footsteps moving towards the door barely register underneath the new and horribly negative response I'm having towards Dean, a hostility that I never imagined I could feel towards him, that I wouldn't have been capable of before turning human. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that I should be paying attention to the sound coming from outside the room. Instead, I open my mouth furiously, overtaken for possibly the first time ever with a wish to hurt Dean back, to retaliate.

Quite without warning, he kisses me.

I make a muffled noise of shock and vehement protest, my anger at him creating a reflex reaction of shoving him away, hard. He steps back into my space immediately, much to my blistering indignation.

"Shut up, Sam's coming past," he hisses, resentment at me clear in his expression even as he tugs me towards him again. The footsteps I heard are growing louder in the hallway and I understand belatedly: Ezekiel is probably already alert to our odd behaviour at lunch. He'll only be more suspicious if he hears us fighting when we're supposed to be an untroubled couple. Sam must not be allowed to think that anything is amiss either. And we are currently supposed to be tearing each other's clothes off, not arguing.

I grit my teeth and grab Dean by the arms, pushing him a little too roughly against the door with an audible thump. The footsteps pause. I scowl at Dean, who scowls back. I nod shortly at him.

He seizes me by the shirtfront and kisses me again, mouth clashing painfully against mine. I grunt at the impact and, feeling a pettiness that was unknown to me as an angel, I reach up and grip his hair, pulling more than necessary. He makes a low, irritated noise into my mouth, catching my bottom lip between his teeth and biting down harshly. I try to jerk back but he swiftly mirrors me with a hand tight in my hair, stopping me from moving away. Sam hasn't resumed walking yet, probably because the sounds we've been making are more violent than passionate. Ironically, since Dean and I are both too enraged by each other to actually make out properly, the only option open is to fight Dean harder in an effort to produce sounds that might convince both Sam and Ezekiel that we're not fighting at all.

Shoving my tongue into Dean's mouth, past caring if he bites it - I'll just bite him back - I dig my fingers into his back under his shirt, nails almost breaking the skin. He flinches and I tighten my other fist in his hair, tugging sharply, the subliminal message clear: I am in control, not him. He jerks against me, groaning hoarsely, and I make a surprised sound as he winds his free arm around my waist and hauls me up against him, forcing me to shuffle my feet forward between his own. He keeps his arm locked around me, kissing me so aggressively that I'm made to bend slightly backwards, my punishing grip on his hair tightening impossibly. His fingers are still tangled at the nape of my neck and he responds in kind, flexing them so that my scalp is tested to its limits.

"Dean-" I grit out as I tear my mouth from his. Dean opens his eyes and smirks cockily at me from an inch away, the expression intensely aggravating. He clearly thinks that he's won. Unwilling to concede but trapped in his hold, I yank his head back and sink my teeth into his neck where it meets his shoulder, triumphant at his shocked gasp.

"Cas," he chokes, and I realise two things at once. Sam has already walked away, because I can hear his bedroom door closing, a distinctive squeak that only his hinges make. And Dean, pressed so tightly against me that I can't tell whose heartbeat is which, is getting hard.

I open my eyes, mouth still parted and wet against Dean's throat, our pulses thrumming in my ears. Shit. I didn't think that this was sexual, but abruptly, it very much is. I also didn't think that Dean was aroused by physical aggression, but it certainly makes sense. After all, we first kissed in the aftermath of a fight, albeit a staged one for practice. I shift a little against Dean's now unmistakable erection and heat pools quickly in my stomach at his poorly suppressed moan, his fingers bruising my waist where his arm is still wound around me, keeping me flush against him. I huff in disbelief, utterly confused. I was furious. I still am. I think I am.

The thought fragments as Dean pulls harshly at my hair and kisses me again, with less biting this time but no gentleness. I'm confused and a little annoyed to find that I reciprocate without giving myself permission to do so, rising up onto the balls of my feet to equal his height and press him back against the door.

Our tongues twist and thrust together and I can feel so much of Dean, we're so close, so firm and warm and alive. My anger at him pulses faintly in my head but it's rapidly being outstripped by passion and excitement, a new sort of lust that seems to have taken hold of me with no warning. I rub and rut my own growing arousal against his and he drops his hands to my ass, roughly squeezing through my jeans, anchoring me to him, sucking on my lower lip as hard as he bit it mere minutes beforehand. I moan, feeling frenzied and wild, both my hands fisted in his hair now.

It occurs to me abruptly that I've never touched Dean's cock. I realise at almost the same time that I want to, far more than I thought I did.

Shoving my hands down between us before I can consider my actions, I fumble with the button on Dean's jeans. He inhales sharply, drawing the air from my mouth, running his hands up my sides and allowing me to shift back a little and yank his zipper down. I push his jeans down with my fingertips but there's only so much I can do standing upright, still kissing Dean.

So I drop promptly to my knees. It's practical. Dean whimpers above me but I'm busy tugging his jeans down around his thighs and then hooking my fingertips into the waistband of his boxer briefs, running my teeth over my swollen lips and eyeing the straining outline of his erection against the dark material. It's only then that I pause, coherent thought finally catching up to me. I raise my eyes to Dean's face and see that he's flattened himself against the door, holding his breath, green eyes enormous and fixed on me.

"Is this alright?" I ask him breathlessly, feeling guilty for forgetting that Dean is supposed to be the one steering our sexual relationship. He blinks at me and swallows visibly before replying.

"If I say no?"

I immediately drop my hands, leaning away from him. "I'm sorry-"

"I'm not saying no," Dean interrupts my apology hastily, reddening. "You can, uh- I mean, if you want to-"

I give a sigh of relief that he's OK with this and nod silently, reaching up and gently pulling Dean's briefs down. He exhales in a rush as his cock bobs free, hanging heavy between his legs and lifted slightly away from his testes, stiff and flushed. I tilt my head, staring for a moment. Dean huffs impatiently and I glance up to see him looking endearingly flustered.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he mutters, not meeting my eyes, but then he snaps his mouth shut, looking horrified. "Not that I won't- I mean, I'll last, I-"

"Dean," I cut across him loudly and he falters, anxious gaze focusing on mine. I smile softly up at him, squeezing lightly at his thighs. "You're very attractive."

He gulps but rolls his eyes, his disgusted face so false that it doesn't worry me for a second. "Dude, you don't compliment other dudes when they've got their dicks out. It's just awkward."

"I don't intend to compliment anyone else's dick," I remark, looking back at the dick in front of me. Dean huffs again, this time in surprised laughter, but I forestall whatever he might have said in response by wrapping my hand around the base, squeezing lightly. Dean swears quietly, the tone of his voice remarkably similar to that of his prayers. I gaze up at him again as I draw my hand up his cock and then push back down, my movements slow and careful. He's watching my hand with an open mouth and I part my own lips, my heartbeat quickening at the rapt expression on his face.

Dean seems to regain some level of confidence as he meets my eyes and my breath hitches at the way his gaze settles and sharpens, dark and smouldering. I realise that unlike when he touched me like this, Dean has experienced having people on their knees for him before. He knows how to navigate this and it's magnetic to watch. He's sure of himself.

At least, he is until I lean forward and tilt his cock up to lick broadly from base to tip, peering up at him to gauge his reaction.

"Shit," Dean bites off, eyes popping, hands flattening against the door again. I smile and drag my tongue across the tip, tasting something faintly different there mingling with the mild salt of his skin. I glance back up at him but he only blinks at me, apparently speechless. I decide to stop testing and hesitating, since Dean hasn't protested but seems incapable of vocalising his explicit approval. He'll stop me if I do something he doesn't like, hopefully.

Leaning back in, I close my mouth around Dean's cock, slurping a little before I think to tighten the seal of my lips. Dean is groaning in a low voice as I slide forward as far as possible before the tip bumps my throat and I pull back hastily with a popping noise, coughing a little.

"I can't go any further," I say, annoyed. I look up questioningly at Dean. "But on the pornographic film I saw the woman was able to go much further. Is it different for men and women?"

Dean is pink and slack-looking, staring down at me. "Huh?"

His gaze is distracted, unfocused, and I quickly realise that he's probably not in a state of mind to be answering my curious questions. I shake my head hastily. "Apologies. I'll google it."

"Jesus, Cas…"

But he's laughing, massaging his forehead with his fingers, eyes crinkling in mirth. I smile sheepishly and slip my mouth back over the head of his cock again, hearing his breath catch. I think about what feels good with fingers and try to apply that with my tongue and lips, sucking hard and then swirling my tongue, keeping one hand wrapped around as well.

It feels a bit messy. Wet, slimy really, and I'm worried about my teeth hurting him, and my jaw is starting to ache. But it's worth it to hear the sounds that Dean is making. Small moans and wrecked gasps, bitten off groans, stuttered curses. And best of all, my name, breathed out like worship, like I'm all he can think about. I have my free hand on his hip trailing absently across the bare skin there, thumb rubbing against his hipbone, palm mapping the slope down to his thigh. But every time Dean says my name I can feel my own arousal spike and I'm starting to wonder if it would be OK to touch myself, if that's considered rude somehow.

Dean's hips are canting further forward a little as I work at him, the movement clearly suppressed, tiny abortive jerks and thrusts that are getting more obvious as the minutes tick by. I'm settling into what I'm doing, applying more pressure, keeping to a rhythm and it's gratifying to feel the effects. Dean shudders, hot and heavy and pulsing in my mouth, a mildly bitter and salty flavour growing against my tongue. Quite suddenly, his hand is on my hair, touching hesitantly, hovering awkwardly, the gesture tense and strange. I open my eyes, having closed them to concentrate. Is he alright?

I tilt my head up a little to check on him, not wanting to interrupt myself completely. He's staring down at me, mouth agape, chest heaving. As I meet his eyes he seems to fall apart somehow. His stiff, open hand becomes a fist woven into my hair and his heavy breath dissolves into a broken gasp.

"Fuck, fuck, Cas, fuck-"

I swallow reflexively against him, dizzy with my own desire. His response is like a burst of repressed energy; he almost shouts, the cry wordless and rough, eyes finally squeezing shut and head tossing back against the door with a painful thump. I go to pull back, concerned, but his hand is tight in my hair and his hips are undulating against my mouth, cock sliding back and forth through my loose fist and tight lips with a sense of purpose. I decide that he seems unhurt and reapply myself to my task with determination. I can sense that he's close. His movements are losing control, becoming frantic and aggressive, his flesh impossibly hard on my tongue, the odd bitterness stronger than ever.

It's too much for me to just passively observe. I'm painfully hard in my jeans, breathless not just with exertion and limited air supply but also with lust. Just glancing up at Dean is overwhelming. His expression, his eyes, the sheen of his skin, the shape of his throat as he leans his head back. The knowledge that I can do this to him. Whimpering a little around my mouthful, I drop my free hand to my crotch, adjusting my cock through the denim and then keeping my hand pressed there, just trying to relieve some of the tension building within me. I give a soft moan, eyelids fluttering, circling my tongue almost lazily underneath the ridge of Dean's foreskin.

I can tell when he notices. His voice breaks as he splutters my name, the syllable barely recognisable. His other hand joins the first in my hair and I almost yelp at the tightness of the grip, squeaking in wide-eyed shock as he pushes forward, almost enough to make me gag. I drop my hand from his cock even as I rub the heel of my palm against my own, the surprise and discomfort of the moment doing nothing to dampen my arousal. With a twitching and throbbing sensation against the back of my tongue, Dean comes and I'm so busy listening in wonder to the half-sobbing way he cries out my name that I almost don't notice the taste or the fact that I'm about to start choking.

It quickly becomes too much, though. I wrench away, wincing as I yank my hair out of Dean's grip. I get splashed across the chin and neck as I lean back but I'm too busy coughing to notice, my face hot and my eyes watering.

"Ugh," I almost wheeze, even as Dean is panting above me, spent. I'm still hard but I ignore that for now, frowning and blinking rapidly as I try to swallow away the strange taste.

"Fuck," Dean slurs, the sound almost a groan. I take a deep, steadying breath and stagger to my feet, feeling a little dizzy, a little surreal. I pause and gaze at Dean for a moment, struck with how gorgeous he looks like this. He's flushed and soft-edged, lips pink and bitten, jaw slack, chest heaving. His eyes are closed and his head tilts back. He looks like he might collapse at any moment. He looks like he's already asleep, dreaming.

I'm still staring at him when he opens his eyes, locking onto mine and staring right back.


	29. Chapter 29

**OH NO SOME WILD PLOT APPEARS  
** **Sorry if this displeases anyone but to make up for it, I am lining up a dubious treat for you next chapter. It's something a lot of you have asked for which is probably going to be terrible but if it is, you'll only have to deal with it for one chapter.  
** **I would like to take this opportunity to apologise for a huge oversight of mine which has been pissing me off since I realised it whilst writing this chapter. I didn't add in Cas's tattoo. His really sexy lower ribcage tattoo that he got just after turning human. I mean, it actually fits this fic way better in terms of plot that he didn't get the tatt but FUCK it's really hot and it would have driven Dean mental and WHYYYY. I am going to add the tattoo in though. I WILL fix this. You have my word.  
** **American readers, I'd be shocked if any of you reading this were considering voting for Trump but I'm going to state the obvious here: please don't, he is literally modern day Hitler crossed with a shitty SNL sketch. It's not OK.**

* * *

"Oh, for fuck's sake," are the first words out of Dean's mouth, breathless and bothered. He immediately shuts his eyes again, squeezing them tightly. I furrow my brow in consternation.

"What is it? Are you alright?"

My voice is rough and I clear my throat. Dean winces slightly. He's silent for a moment before he replies.

"You have come on your face."

I nod slowly. "Yes."

Dean opens his eyes again, peering at me, pained. "It's just… fuck. How the hell am I supposed to concentrate from now on with that mental image? Jesus…"

I watch him, puzzled, as he raises a shaky hand and runs it through his hair, exhaling heavily, shutting his eyes again. I glance around Dean's bedroom to see if he has any tissues, since apparently having semen on my face is somehow confronting for him. Spotting some, I walk over and hastily wipe off my jaw and neck before returning to Dean. He opens his eyes again as I halt in front of him and he gives a tremulous laugh, still leaning on the door as though unable to support his own weight.

"You didn't have to-" he starts, eyes warm, but then he stops and sighs. "Never mind. Thanks."

I shrug. He rolls his eyes and then slowly straightens up, swallowing nervously as he pulls up his briefs and jeans. "And, uh, thanks for that too. For the, um…"

"Blowjob?" I supply helpfully. Dean winces again.

"Yeah. Yeah, that was- that was really good. Really, um, good."

I nod my head, pleased, lips twitching. "I'm glad, Dean."

"Right," says Dean a little blankly. He's holding his belt without actually doing it up and just staring at me, his expression hard to read. I tilt my head at him.

"Are you-" I begin once more, but I'm cut off as Dean steps forward and kisses me, hands cupping my jaw, mouth soft and tender on mine. I'm too surprised to kiss him back for a moment but I raise my hands to his waist, holding him to me. The kiss stays closed-mouthed and gentle for a long time and I feel myself warming, glowing at the contrast to the attack-like aggression of our earlier exchange. That was all anger and sex, which I enjoyed in an intense sort of way, but this is something totally different. This feels precious.

Thumbs stroking at my cheekbones, Dean slips his tongue almost shyly between my lips. Almost immediately he draws back with a muffled chuckle.

"Ah," he says apologetically. I raise my eyebrows at him. "Forgot about the taste."

I nod, suppressing a smile. "Yes. It's… it's-"

"It's kinda bitter," he grimaces. "You hate bitter stuff. I mean, yours wasn't exactly strawberry milkshake either, just so you know."

I roll my eyes, shaking my head. "I believe you. It must just be how it tastes. It's fine, really."

Dean hums agreement, ducking his head and brushing his lips against my jaw, dropping his hands to squeeze my upper arms. "I'll buy some pineapple juice."

"What?" I mumble, confused by his statement but distracted by his breath on my ear. He ghosts his mouth over my skin and I shiver, hands tightening on his sides.

"Helps with the taste."

"Oh. That- that'd be good."

He pulls back and peers at me, biting his lip. "I mean, I guess I-"

He stops, looking away, flushing. I tilt my head to catch his eye again, intrigued. "What is it?"

Dean is definitely turning scarlet. He squeezes my arms again, nervously this time. "I guess I can't really know for sure. What yours is like. I mean, I hardly…"

He trails off, glancing up into my eyes and then down again, worrying at his lower lip. I've never seen him this shy before and it's quite fascinating. "I don't know what you're-"

"It's just," he cuts across me louder, pushing me back towards the bed, "I haven't really had the chance to- to find out-"

"Dean," I almost laugh, thoroughly bemused now. The backs of my knees hit the end of the bed and I grab firmly onto Dean's elbows, stopping him from toppling me over. "What are you talking about? Find out what?"

Dean huffs frustratedly, green eyes dark and wanting but expression curled into a defensive scowl. "Shit, Cas, I'm tryin' to return the favour, OK?"

It takes me a moment but then I gulp with understanding, eyes popping wide. I can't deny that I want it, especially looking at Dean with his teeth still catching at his lip almost coyly and his eyes heating up as he gains confidence, dropping a hand to cup at where I'm still half-hard.

"No, no," I breathe in a rush, grabbing at his wrist. He blinks at me and the fact that he actually looks disappointed is almost enough to change my mind. The thought that Dean Winchester wants to put his mouth on me…

"No," I say a little louder, a little clearer. "Dean, we need to talk."

Immediately, he lets go of me, frowning. "Great. You do know that's like, my least favourite sentence, right?"

I ignore him. "I didn't mean to imply that my issues with Metatron are more important than Sam's safety. You know that I could never think that."

He shuts his mouth, eyebrows raising. After a moment, he nods. I nod too and then take a deep breath, holding his gaze and speaking very clearly. "I'm sorry."

Dean's mouth tilts up at the corner slightly. "That looked difficult. You sure you didn't strain something?"

"Dean."

"I'm joking," he laughs, glancing down as he finally starts to do up his belt properly. "And, uh…"

I eye him impatiently as he pauses, tugging the worn leather through the buckle. Finally he looks up and speaks.

"I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have dismissed how you're feeling about Metatron. And yeah, I want to teach the son of a bitch a lesson too, he screwed you over. But Cas, Sam's life might be on the line, he's gotta come first in this."

"Sam always has to come first," I agree solemnly. To my surprise, Dean steps back, looking frustrated.

"Look, it's not like I don't care about you, but fuck, he's my brother-"

"No, Dean, I understand that," I say hastily, realising that he misinterpreted my statement as a complaint. "I wouldn't want you to put anything before Sam. Well, your own wellbeing would be nice, but I'll keep my expectations realistic there for now."

Dean blinks at me. "Oh. Yeah, well… yeah. And that's OK? Because me putting Sammy first… it hasn't always been OK with girls I've dated. And now that we're… whatever we are, I dunno if you're expecting things to change."

I shrug. "It's always been OK with me and it still is; it's part of who you are. And things have changed. We're spending more time together, we have a sexual relationship and we're being far more communicative with each other. All fantastic changes, I think."

Dean nods, grinning. "True. OK, well, all good then. Right?"

"I hope so," I smile, pleased that our conflict has been resolved. It was disturbing to get so angry at Dean so quickly. Angelic emotion was always far more reasoned and slow to build. It's no wonder that humans are so volatile and unpredictable.

"So what do we do?" Dean asks after a moment of smiling vaguely at each other. I blink, scrambling mentally to guess what he's referring to. Dean clarifies for me a moment later, to my relief. "About Metatron."

"Ah." I'm not sure what to say. Now that my initial, furious reaction has died down, I just feel bitter and weak. What can we possibly do to thwart two angels? I immediately berate myself for the pessimism, remembering that Sam and Dean have thwarted many angels, myself included. I am not useless because I am human. To think so is an insult to the extremely capable humans that I call my family. Dean is watching me expectantly, so I clear my throat and try to sound determined. "Is Sam well enough to survive Ezekiel leaving him?"

Dean shakes his head sadly. "I don't think so. I mean, it's hard to tell. He might be."

I weigh it up for a moment in my mind before slumping. "It's not worth the risk, then. We can't exorcise Ezekiel."

"Much as I'd like to, probably not a great idea."

"Alright… but we can't leave him with Ezekiel if Ezekiel has hostile intentions."

Dean grimaces, rubbing tiredly at his forehead. "Yep."

I think about it for a moment, quickly coming to a conclusion but having no idea how to make it a reality. Still, I give voice to my thoughts. "What if we could convince another angel to step in immediately and keep Sam safe?"

Dean frowns at me. "Well, yeah, that'd be ideal. But we don't know any other angels."

I nod miserably, turning and pacing away. When I speak I'm almost embarrassed by the sad yearning in my own voice. "I wish I had my grace."

Dean doesn't answer. Of course he doesn't. He probably wishes I had my grace as much as I do. If I hadn't stupidly allowed myself to be manipulated by Metatron, I wouldn't be human right now and I would be healing Sam instead of a traitorous stranger who's holding secret meetings with our enemy. Everything would be fine. Passing a hand over my face and pushing it back through my hair, I inhale slowly and then put on a falsely cheerful voice, still not turning around.

"Right, well, that will just have to be my job then. Find an angel willing to help us in exchange for a promise that, once Sam is recovered, we will be taking down Metatron. I'm sure most angels would jump at such an opportunity after what he's done to us. Them, I mean."

"Cas, that's a good plan, but how the hell are you planning to find an angel? And how are you supposed to know that they're trustworthy? This Ezekiel turned out to be shady as fuck."

I frown as I turn around. "I know. That still troubles me deeply. My memories of Ezekiel do not match with the way he is now at all. Something has altered him profoundly."

"Yeah, war'll do that," Dean shrugs. His arms are folded, his posture defensive, prickly. I wonder if he's still annoyed at me, but when he next speaks his eyes are full of worry rather than irritation. "You didn't answer me. How are you gonna find an angel?"

The plan is unfolding in my mind even as I open my mouth to reply, haphazard but plausible. "I'll use the technology that Sam and Charlie have been working on. They have already mapped out a rough list of locations across the country where groups of angels appear to have gathered. I will approach one of these areas and just… pray. Angels will come to me, out of concern or curiosity or a lingering sense of duty. I will simply have to attempt to judge who might be trustworthy and willing to help us."

Dean is looking understandably sceptical. "That's pretty damn vague, Cas. And dangerous. You might not be so popular with the angels right now."

I keep my face expressionless with some difficulty, although the blunt statement stings. He's entirely correct. "Possibly. Probably. But angels are generally not impulsive; they will stop to listen to what I have to say before they harm me. And they might not even recognise me now that I'm human."

"Right… OK, it sounds worth a try. How are we going to keep this from Zeke, though?"

I take a deep breath. "We're not. I'm doing this on my own."

Dean's response is immediate and predictable. He even throws in a derisive snort, shaking his head in disbelief. "Like hell you are."

"Dean-"

"No way!"

I pause, narrowing my eyes at him. He uncrosses his arms and points at me, his own eyes flashing angrily. "You are not just swanning off to reveal yourself to a bunch of probably hostile angels who can smite you with a single thought. Nope. Whatever we do to fix this, we do together."

I swallow, touched by this declaration. It doesn't change the facts, though. "Dean, this is the best plan we have to get Sam out of danger. In fact, it's the only plan. You know that I am not helpless. And you can't come because Sam can't come, because Ezekiel can't come. And we both know that you're not going to leave Sam and Kevin here alone with him."

Dean opens his mouth, glares at me for several seconds, and then shuts it again with a deflated sigh. "Fuck. Fuck, this is risky."

"Most things we do are risky," I shrug, a genuine smile breaking across my face. "So, it's decided then. You will stay here and try not to give Ezekiel an opportunity to sneak away and meet with Metatron again. We will have an exorcism plan prepared for my return, hopefully with a new angel ally. I will go and recruit this new angel ally and let you know when I am coming back."

Dean shuts his eyes and nods reluctantly, looking pained, mouthing a curse. Then he opens them again, frowning. "How the hell are we gonna explain you going off on a trip by yourself?"

I've thought of this. I draw myself up firmly, looking Dean directly in the eye, my voice confident when I speak:

"Dean, we have to break up."


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30! I never ever imagined that this fic would be so endlessly long, but here we are. Thank you all SO MUCH for your support and encouragement, undoubtedly the reason I'm still writing this. And to celebrate...  
DEAN POV DEAN POV DEAN POV!  
Yes bitches, I have answered your ill-advised prayers (OK I only got like 2 requests but still) and given a Dean POV chapter my best shot. The good news is, it's double length because I had a lot of catching up to do on Dean's ever fucked up mental state. The bad news is - as I have repeatedly warned you all - I can't write Dean for shit. So enjoy this rambling travesty and rest assured that I'm getting back to safer territory (Cas POV) next chapter. I actually had a lot of fun writing this. There is some smut and it's not beta'd this time, which was probably unwise as the lovely Alicemurdock is the reason the smut so far has been readable. But I felt weirdly confident about it? Mistakes were probably made. Oh well. Also, I know literally nothing about guns and it probably shows.  
I've been reading basically all of the work of Unforth on AO3 and it's all SO GOOD check it out.  
** **How did we feel about 12x02? I think I liked it overall but I had a lot of issues with it. It was Buckleming after all. Ugh.**

* * *

It's been three days since Cas and I agreed on our dumbass plan, and it's another two days before the scheduled 'break up'. A morning quarrel, he thinks, with him storming out and me telling the cover story to Sam and Kevin over breakfast. He can sneak a bag into the Impala the night before. For a guy who pretty much flips between the same three facial expressions, Cas has a real dramatic streak.

The whole thing is insane. Like, even more insane than our usual crap.

And yeah, obviously even a fake break up is not ideal at this point. For fuck's sake, I'm still working on not being terrified of how utterly non-platonic my feelings for Cas are. I'm still a way off from being actually comfortable that Castiel, former angel of the Lord, is my boyfriend - wow, OK, nope, never using that word again - but I'm getting there. I've been doing great. If Ezekiel could have just stowed his villainous crap for a bit longer and given Cas and me some time… but no. This is my life.

I'm wondering, as I watch Cas sleeping soundly on my chest - looking ironically angelic - whether this has all been as big of a mistake as I always suspected it would be. Because, look, I'm not a total moron. I've been painfully aware of my not-so-little crush on Cas for years, but I've always stayed wrapped up in reasons not to do anything about it. The most obvious one being that Cas might not have felt the same way. Yeah, in hindsight it's been pretty clear from the start that he does, but still. Secondly, having spent most of my life steadfastly denying any attraction to dudes, suddenly giving in and jumping Cas was a lot for my pride to take. Still is, dumb as it seems. But the most important reason to keep my silence was the one that still causes doubt in me now.

It could all go wrong, and I could lose him.

Losing Cas has always been an especially shitty experience, which is saying something considering my list of shitty experiences includes several decades in actual Hell. When Cas isn't around nothing is OK, and seeing him happy makes me happy. Properly happy, like normal people get to be. But there's the catch. My goodie bag of issues or my curse or my karmic debt, or whatever the fuck is so deeply wrong with me, is always lurking in the background and it's hard to believe that I could have this. That I could shrug and accept how I feel about Cas and casually admit that we make each other happy and just expect nothing to go sour. It seems real unlikely, and ruining whatever tense friendship I had with Cas was never a risk I was brave enough to take. Because it would go wrong. It always does.

Things would have carried on that way, too. I was all set to just keep on needing more from Cas - more time and more contact and more fleeting glimpses of real contentment - but to stay comfortably in my tried-and-true denial. But then he fell and became human and suddenly he was everywhere, all the time, so soft and new and fucking tempting. In the end, I had to admit to myself that it was obviously gonna happen and I was doing more harm than good by pretending otherwise; I was no longer preserving or protecting anything with my stubbornness. Plus, literally everything he does is insanely attractive. It's not natural.

So here we are, finally having stumbled into loving each other without lying about it, and I'm working so fucking hard on accepting the situation as a good thing rather than a slippery slope to catastrophe. And now we have to break up. It doesn't matter how fake it is, part of me still wants to punch something at the predictable unfairness. It's such bullshit, though. Cas is rushing off to play the hero, putting his newly vulnerable self into clear danger, and there's not a part of me that can really consider going with him because Sam really does always come first. And Cas actually is fine with that, because he's so damn perfect. Angels really are dicks. Metatron for being the biggest douche to ever douche, Ezekiel for lying through my brother's teeth and Cas for making it impossible to stay legitimately angry at him because he's the best person in the universe. Although actually, I need to stop thinking of Cas as still being an angel. He's not.

And there's another problem, like I have some sort of fucking quota to fill, of bullshit to stay awake at night fretting over. Cas is human, and he doesn't want to be. Of course he doesn't want to be, it's miserable. But what's really shit, what really pinches at me in the back of my mind when I'm quiet like this… is that I do want him to be. I'm glad he fell. Not glad that it hurt him, but glad that it tethered him. He's stuck down here, and it's a new low that I want to keep him that way, caged up with me, but I fucking well do. I might not have ripped off his wings and taken his grace away but I'm reaping the rewards just as surely as if I had. I might as well send Metatron a damn gift hamper.

And now he wants to go after Metatron, because of course being human sucks and he misses his angel freedom and he's determined and badass enough that he'll probably end up getting his grace back, or finding another way to reverse the fall. And then he'll leave, because Cas always leaves. He's getting all domestic now, thinking that he's trapped in a mortal existence, but once he gets his wings back he can fly away and what's to stop him? Me? What right do I have? Why should he have to stay with me?

Cas snuffles a little in his sleep and I tighten my arms around him, petulant. He loves me, weirdo that he is. If I wasn't such a fuck-up I could just trust in that and not be so selfish.

The bleak, anxious thoughts fade into grey dreams at some point and I wake up a few hours later, just as tired as when I fell asleep. I switch on the lamp and check the time; almost eight in the morning. Cas is snoring softly beside me, on his back, inelegant and kinda cute. It's still pretty funny to see him like this. I lean over him, amused as he exhales and I wrinkle my nose at his sleep-sour breath. It might be mean of me but watching Cas have to deal with the ugly reality of mortal life has turned out to be both hilarious and oddly comforting. It makes me feel close to him. Finally, I understand how he's experiencing the world. When he was an angel it was all mysterious celestial crap that made me feel like a glorified ape.

"I love you," I murmur, eyes trailing over his face. He slumbers on and I grin, rolling away to get out of bed and stretch. I've formed a bad habit of admitting it to him in his sleep, like the emotionally stunted creep that I am. I get a weird kick out of finally saying it out loud but the idea of him hearing it is still a bit too much to contemplate. I'll screw up at some point and he'll catch me. It doesn't matter anyway, he knows by now how I feel about him. I hope.

Throwing on my robe - Cas and I slept in just our underpants last night and I'm thinking that should become a regular thing, or maybe we could lose the underwear too - I leave Cas to his 'healthy amount of sleep' and wander to the kitchen, blearily imagining how great my coffee is going to taste. Sam is already up, of course, freshly showered after his six o'clock run, sipping at his home-made smoothie. Fucking freak. I ruffle his damp hair as I walk past and smile serenely at his pissy swearing. We chat aimlessly about guns or something as I make my coffee and cereal but he's eyeing me speculatively as I settle at the table.

"So how are things with Cas?" he ventures after I've taken a nice deep gulp of caffeine. I roll my eyes at him.

"You asked me that yesterday, dude. Answer's still the same. Things are good."

I heave a slow sigh. "Can you get some flashcards or something? So you don't lose your voice repeating yourself every time we have a damn conversation."

"Piss off, jerk."

I grin at him over the rim of my mug. "Bitch."

Cas wanders in at that moment, a vision in pinstriped boxers and the old Metallica shirt, hair absolutely insane and eyes unfocused. I always got a bit preoccupied with his hair even when it was relatively constant and neat, presumably kept in check by his grace. But since he's been human I've formed some kind of fixation on it. I can't keep my hands out of it when we're alone. It just looks really, really good messed up. Plus, there are some fun ways to get it looking that way.

"Is there coffee?" Cas yawns, running his fingers through the sex hair in an annoyingly sexy way. I scowl at him, which is unfair but he doesn't seem bothered.

I must scowl a lot. Figures.

"Yeah, in the pot," I mumble, turning my attention back to Sam, who's checking his phone. "Sammy, any plans today?"

Sam glances up. "Not really, why?"

I shrug, wondering how long I can keep tabs on Sam's every movement before he or Ezekiel suspect something. "Just hanging out in the bunker?"

"Yeah," he replies. "Probably gonna help Kevin with his translations today. You?"

"Not too much, got some more training planned with Cas." I've been throwing all sorts of training at Cas, mostly drilling him on incantations and creature lore, although he's already pretty clued in. But it's past time to work on his shooting. He's not too experienced with guns. "Is the firing range unlocked?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Cas sits heavily beside me, eyes closed as he sips at his sweetened black coffee and bites at a piece of toast with peanut butter and jelly. My gaze catches on where his boxers have bunched up a bit on one leg, exposing a lot of gold-skinned thigh. I've only very recently started to appreciate Cas's legs. I knew he had a decent sort of body from early on, from way too much 'casual' observation and that time he made me carve a banishing sigil onto his chest like the lunatic he is. But the ever-present layers of clothes left me with the impression that he was, if not skinny, certainly quite slim and rangy. And I'm tall, so I never really noticed that Cas is tall too, because he's still shorter than me. I always thought he was cute. A cute little guy.

But Kevin was right, Cas is kinda buff. He's a couple of abs short of being a damn underwear model. He's actually about the same size and build as me, except hotter. It's been a nice surprise, because I was already totally hung up on the slender little Cas in my head. Real Cas has eye-catching biceps and a defined chest and edible hipbones and thickly muscled thighs that look way better in jeans than they ever did in business slacks. I haven't really had a chance to check out his bare ass properly yet, but I'm willing to bet I'll like it.

I realise that I've been staring, not quite drooling but damn close, and I look up to see that Sam is smirking at me. I mouth at him to fuck off and the smirk deepens. Right, time to go then. I spoon up the last of my cereal and gulp it down quickly.

"OK Cas, meet me at the firing range in twenty minutes, alright?" I say loudly, pushing back from the table. Cas smiles and nods, looking more awake. I wash my breakfast things before leaving the room, not bothering to say anything more as Sam and Cas are already exchanging small talk about the weather. Losers.

I get changed and brush my teeth, examining my shadowed eyes in the bathroom mirror. I look tired. I feel tired. This entire situation with Ezekiel is so damn tiring. I just want Sam to be safe and Cas to be staying, but until we get another angel into Sam neither of those things can happen.

I go to the firing range and set up, laying out guns and ammo, whistling tunelessly. Chances are Cas will be awesome at this too. For someone who's constantly lamenting the loss of his angel superpowers, the guy is freakishly good at everything he attempts. Sam taught him to make pancakes and within fifteen minutes Cas had produced a neat pile of perfect crepes. I am definitely training him up to make pie.

"Hello, Dean."

I wheel around, grinning at the familiar greeting. "Hey, Cas. Ready to shoot?"

He comes to a halt beside me, peering at the targets with keen interest. He's fully dressed and seems to have combed his hair, which is a shame really. "I think so."

"OK," I say, picking up a nice little easily concealed handgun, probably the exact one that I'll be sending Cas off with. "Here's your weapon. We need to load it first…"

I take Cas through the basics, droning on, paraphrasing the same speech that Dad gave me in elementary school. He nods seriously and frowns in concentration and handles the gun with care, those long fingers steady and gentle. Shit, Cas has nice hands. I clap him on the shoulder, point at the target and cheerfully tell him to go ahead and blow its brains out. He hesitates before lifting the gun one-handed and pointing it vaguely at the target's head, frowning. I snort. What a dork.

"Wow, OK, I clearly need to spend more time talking about a little thing called 'aim'. Although it's kinda hard to explain it, you do have to sorta work it out for yourself. Here-"

And yeah, it's a cliche and I probably should have realised that, but I'm honestly just trying to be a good teacher when I step up close behind him. He freezes and then relaxes as I lightly guide his arms so that he's holding the gun with two hands, shaping my own fingers around them. My chin is almost on his shoulder, my cheek pressed to his ear as I line up the target and then adjust the angle slightly for Cas. It's tricky to concentrate much draped all over Cas with his hair smelling like my own fucking shampoo but I'm a professional, god damn it.

"Exhale as you squeeze the trigger," I murmur in his ear, feeling a bit light-headed and a lot like I've slipped into some cheesy novel or TV show. Shit, there actually was a scene like this in Dr Sexy, just with a scalpel instead of a gun.

"OK," he breathes, and I'm so distracted by how close my lips are to his skin and how well the curve of his ass fits against me that I jump badly when the gun goes off. I look to the target, heart hammering, and see that there's a neat new bullet hole right next to the dummy's nose. Of course. Perfect.

"Nice," I say dryly, softening my tone by squeezing Cas's hands where they're still cradled in mine. I nose affectionately at his cheek and I can feel him smiling, the smug bastard.

"I don't know, I'm a little too far to the right."

"Shoot again then," I mumble, trailing my fingertips up his sleeves and then dropping my hands from his elbows to his waist, pulling him more securely against me and watching his hands tremble slightly around the gun. This time I don't flinch when it goes off, although he does. The shot whizzes over the top of the target's head and I tut in Cas's ear, amused.

"First one might have been a fluke," I say softly. "Concentrate, don't get cocky."

He sighs in an irritated sort of way and I hide my smile against his neck, hearing the gun go off again a moment later. I know before I look that he's aimed well again, purely from his triumphant little sound and the way he leans lazily back against me. I need to keep an eye on his damn ego.

"Still a bit skewed to the right," I mutter pettily. Cas has shot the target directly through the right eye. He snorts lightly and I rub absently at his taut sides, thumbing at his ribcage through the double layer of his shirts. It's still so good to see him in relaxed and familiar clothes, like he's donned the Winchester uniform. It suits him, although I do still daydream about that tie sometimes. He takes a deep breath, clearly about to shoot again, and I grin to myself.

"Go on," I breathe encouragingly in his ear, following it up with an open-mouthed kiss to the skin beneath. He shivers and shoots and when I glance up, he's shot the target in the shoulder. I try not to laugh. Cas huffs in annoyance.

"Dean, would you mind-"

"Gotta be able to shoot in all sorts of circumstances, Cas," I interrupt innocently. His jaw twitches and I kiss it happily, wondering if I can get him to properly miss the target again. It'd do him good to have to work hard at this. I'm doing him a favour, really.

"Fine," he sighs, adjusting his feet a little and inhaling slowly. I slip my hands under his shirt, running my fingertips across his hipbones, subtly tugging him back so he can feel beyond doubt that I'm sporting a semi. For good measure, I lick along the shell of his ear, breathing hotly against the skin. Cas makes a wounded little sound just before he shoots that I am instantly fucking interested in hearing again. When I check a moment later, he's completely missed. I actually do chuckle this time.

"Oh, dear," I purr between kisses to his neck. I've pushed my hands up under his shirt properly now and I stroke just below his nipples, not quite getting there. He tips his head back onto my shoulder, breathing heavily, lowering the gun. I'm flattered that he's more interested in me than in winning whatever game we're playing, but I'm also not done having fun with this because I'm clearly an absolute little shit. I whip my hands out from under his shirt, guiding his grip on the gun back up at the target, resting my chin on his shoulder.

"Come on, Cas," I whisper. "You can do better than that."

He's still and silent for a moment but then he exhales through his nose and lifts his hands from mine, settling back into a ready stance.

"I really doubt you've ever had to shoot anything under quite these circumstances," he says snippily, eyes fixed ahead when I turn my head to look at him. His eyelashes are longer than I realised up close, the line of his nose weirdly pretty. Ah, shit, I'm calling another person's nose pretty in my head. This must be what a mid life crisis feels like. I snake my hands under Cas's shirt again, splaying them across the barely-there curve of his stomach, feeling it flex at my touch. If this is a mid life crisis then I kinda love it.

"You don't know that," I argue softly, watching him lick his lips nervously. Suddenly I'm not all that interested in target practice either, but I'm a stickler for finishing things I start, even if it disadvantages my dick. I'm heroic like that. "Might've had to shoot stuff while I was being attacked by something especially horny. I might've been in this exact situation."

Cas rolls his eyes and then visibly tries to focus, squinting along the top of the gun. I decide to give him a hickey and I'm busy applying myself to my task when he determinedly shoots, immediately swearing under his breath. I detach from Cas's neck to check how he went. He missed again. I hum in entirely false sympathy.

"Bad luck, dude."

"It is not 'bad luck'," Cas replies through gritted teeth, hands tight around the gun. I grin into his shoulder, feeling the bunched muscles there. He's pissed off and it's pretty damn hilarious. "You are sabotaging me."

"Me?" I ask incredulously, peering at his scowling profile. I start to unbutton his jeans. "Cas, man, I am hurt that you'd accuse me of something like that. Really, I am. Wow."

"Dean."

"Isn't it time for you to miss again?" I suggest smugly, running a finger underneath the waistband of his underwear. He shakes his head slightly but takes aim again and I decide to let him off the hook for this one, because I'm charitable. I go utterly still and a few seconds later, Cas shoots the target directly through the forehead. He relaxes back against me and I laugh in his ear.

"Well done," I whisper, kissing down his neck to brush my lips against the mark I made. I start to slide my hand into his boxer briefs, slow but purposeful. He shudders and presses back against me and shit, it won't take long for things to fully develop down there if he keeps on rolling his hips like that-

"Only eight more to go," I murmur hoarsely, real regret in my voice, withdrawing my hand. Cas scoffs and steps abruptly forward and away, drawing an undignified whine out of my mouth that I will never admit came from me. Dropping one hand, he angles his body to shoot single-handedly, his stance strong and effortless, almost arrogant and seriously badass. He empties the rest of the magazine in quick succession, the sound deafening, the target's face ripped apart as each and every shot hits its mark. He tosses the gun carelessly aside onto the table next to us as he turns to face me, his eyes dark and his jaw set. My own jaw is totally slack. Fuck.

"Fuck," I say stupidly. Cas raises an eyebrow. Fuck.

"Are we done?" he asks lowly, stepping towards me. I swallow with difficulty.

"That was really hot," I manage to get out, only slurring a little bit, my voice utterly sincere. Jesus, that might have been the hottest thing I've ever seen. Cas looks kinda like he wants to smile, but instead he takes a final step forward and grabs me by my open plaid shirt, yanking me towards him for a bruising kiss. I moan into his mouth in a way that is horrifically wanton but I can't care very much. I don't even register that Cas has been pushing me backwards until my ass hits the wall, followed none too gently my my head. The fact that I don't notice the pain is probably as much a sign of way too many head injuries as it is of mindless lust, but I'm pretty sure the mindless lust thing is playing a hefty role too.

"Cas," I gasp pathetically as he breaks away to nip and suck down my throat. He's getting more and more comfortable with being rough with me. We've never actually sat down and discussed this shit but I guess I make it pretty obvious what I'm into, by turning into a whimpering slutty mess whenever Cas so much as lightly shoves me where he wants me to go. It's shameful, but nothing I didn't already know about myself. Plus, Cas seems to be pretty into it too. At least, I think so. We haven't done more than make out since he sucked me off - which was amazing but kinda terrifying at the same time - except for last night when making out turned into dry humping which turned into my first pants-on orgasm since my early twenties. And hey, I'd be embarrassed, but watching Cas come is kinda my new favourite thing so I don't care all that much.

Right now I'm actually weirdly preoccupied with the memory of how I, for a brief mad moment, wanted to suck Cas off in return. I've never let myself think about sucking dick in much detail before and it's never seemed all that appealing anyway, but everything seems appealing when Cas is in the mix. And right now I'm having another mad moment.

"Cas," I choke out again, pushing at his shoulders to unlatch him from my neck. Was he giving me a hickey to match his? I can't work out if that's weirdly romantic or just a dick move designed to annoy me later. Probably both. I heave a breath, staring at him with wide eyes. He looks pretty wrecked in the best possible way, eyes bright and hungry. Yeah, I'm doing this, I can freak out about it later.

I shove him further back and he stumbles a little, blinking in surprise. I can see the worry stealing onto his face, the thought that he's done something wrong. Better nip that in the bud. I fall to my knees, holding his gaze, thinking that this is kinda blasphemous since I'm kneeling like I'm in church and he used to be an angel. My dick twitches and I feel myself blush. I knew I was a kinky little sinner but I really do have issues. Oh well.

He just blinks down at me as I start undoing his jeans, mouth slack. It isn't until I tug them down to his knees and then reach for his boxer briefs - so glad I bought him those because they look very, very good- that he seems to catch on.

"Oh, Dean," he breathes. I smirk up at his awestruck expression, feeling a bit more confident - Cas, after all, is pretty easy to please so I probably won't stuff this up badly - and then drop my gaze as I pull his underwear down. He's hard and leaking and I can't say that I don't feel the old panic and guilt for liking the way it looks, because I do and there's a part of me that wants to get up and walk out of the room, get drunk and jerk off to Busty Asian Beauties like I'm supposed to.

But those days are gone. At least, I really want them to be, because they were sad and lonely days.

I've had enough blowjobs to know the dos and don'ts and the panic is still there, threatening to overtake me if I stop and think too much, so I decide to just go for it. Throwing myself into action and reflecting upon my mistakes in the aftermath is generally how I roll, and this is no exception. I watch Cas bite his lip and blink slowly down at me as I close my mouth around him and suck, resigning myself to every moment of this feeling really fucking weird. He exhales shakily and reaches one hand up to touch his fingertips to the side of my face, reverent.

I keep doing what I'm doing for a little longer, because it's a good basic but dependable way to make a guy feel good and I'm busy trying to think of other fail-safe things to do with my mouth. I try a few ideas out, getting my hands involved and testing out my gag reflex. Its a damn good thing I didn't attempt this with my eyes closed because staring up at Cas is doing wonders for both my confidence and my enjoyment. Watching him flush and groan and twist his face up with pleasure is actually way more addictive than I anticipated. It's weird, because I'm finding it predictably hot that he's in a position of dominance, gazing down at me with one hand almost casually cupping my jaw. But I've also never felt more in control of the sexual stuff between us. I own every fibre of Cas's attention right now. He isn't thinking about anything but me, doesn't want anything else. He can't look away. Maybe it's a bit douchey of me and I'm really not normally a power-hungry sort of guy, but the way Cas's blown eyes are locked on mine over his slack features is intoxicating.

He rumbles my name a lot and moans now and then, voice and eyes increasingly tense, hand trembling against my face. His hips are starting to shake too and I realise he's been holding back from moving. I don't want him to hold back. I grab his hips, tighten my mouth around him and pull him crudely in and then back out again, concentrating on breathing through my nose. He makes that wounded noise from earlier, which I count as a victory. Suddenly, his other hand is in my hair and his eyes are a little wild now, dark yet alight, combusting as he picks up the rhythm that I've started and begins to fuck my mouth in earnest.

"Dean-" he says brokenly, both hands gripping my short hair to keep me still for him. I hum a wordless response and he chokes off a noise, his breathing loud and distressed-sounding as he nears the edge. Fuck, he looks incredible. I thought I wouldn't like sucking dick much but the view is so worth it. I begin to knead his thighs as he draws close to coming, relishing the warm skin and the satisfying thickness of the firm flesh, moaning around his cock because I am actually enjoying this, all of it, and I never expected that.

Cas comes, hard. He almost sobs my name, his voice cracked and breathless. As I swallow it down and stare up at his transcendent, adoring face, I think that I'm going to miss him more than even I thought possible.


	31. Chapter 31

**Oh lordy lord, the break up has arrived! Even I'm annoyed at me for coming up with this XD thank chuck it's not real.**

 **(spoilers)**

 **Still enjoying S12 - agent Beyonce, hahahahahaha YES but Cas still not realising how much Dean pines for him when he's not around NOOOO - although obviously I wish that Cas was in every episode. The priest outfits were a fucking fantastic consolation prize though, wowzers. Sign me up to that church!**

 **And oh my GOD 'sunshine' is canon! I totally stole it from saltyfeathers on AO3 but I used 'morning sunshine' in this very fic. I feel so smug and ahead of the times right now.**

* * *

"No, no, I'm not sayin' you should blame me for anything, just make sure you got a reason in your head as to why you're angry. You gotta be real angry, Cas. You're storming out, remember? That is not like you, you need a reason."

I sigh, running a hand through my hair, clenching my other fist around the Impala keys. They dig into my palm, biting. Dean's right, storming out is not like me at all, but it's a major part of the plan.

"We should have figured out a reason before now," I hiss, panic starting to creep up on me. This isn't going to work. I don't want it to work. I don't want to leave. But I have to.

Dean rolls his eyes, but his posture is tense. I know he doesn't like this either. "There are a dozen things you could pick that are one hundred per cent believable. Come on, man, I'm not exactly Prince Charming."

"I find you charming, although no, I'm not aware of you having any royal-"

"Cas," Dean cuts across me firmly, stepping closer. His eyes are very serious. "You need to lie, OK? I know you think I'm great, somehow. And that's awesome, it really is. But you need to pretend otherwise."

"I should have snuck out overnight and left a note, like you suggested. You were right."

Dean is kind enough to merely shrug impassively, pretending not to be annoyed at me for insisting that it will be less suspicious if Sam and Ezekiel actually see me leave. Why must I always make everything difficult and painful? I could be well on my way by now with no scene caused.

"Yeah, perhaps, but it doesn't matter. We're doing it this way. Now, you might be able to leave without being stopped but I can't guarantee it and Sam will definitely try to call you and fix things. He's gonna think this is his business, because it involves you and me and we're both his family. This is going to require acting. So make something up and stick with it."

I swallow, staring at him. I try to think of reasons I might walk out on him. To be fair, he has sometimes treated me badly over the years, in various situations and for various reasons. It's never been enough for me not to want to be near him, though. The few times I did abandon him, the situation was far more drastic than just an argument. "You think of something. I can't."

Dean groans and half-turns away, rubbing at his furrowed brow. "OK. OK, maybe it's a gay panic thing, yeah? Maybe I just can't deal with you being a dude and I'm refusing to let you touch me and you're over it."

I scoff a little. "Sex? But sex doesn't matter. I like it and I would be sad to not be able to touch you again, but it's hardly important enough to end a relationship over, is it?"

Dean throws me a look of mingled disbelief and indignation. "Way to boost a guy's confidence. You wouldn't care if I actually decided to go all chastity vows on you?"

"Of course not. I love you, you mean far more to me than sexual gratification."

"Well… OK, that's…" Dean struggles for a moment before slumping and sighing, eyes soft despite his annoyed expression. "Thank you. Fine, something else. Uh, you tried to get me to give up drinking and I refused."

"Sam knows that I wouldn't police you like that. Although it is true that I would prefer you found a healthier coping mechanism for stress, especially as I'm no longer able to regularly heal you of any ill health."

"Yeah, but… wait, what? What d'you mean, regularly heal me?"

I shift uncomfortably. I didn't mean to tell him that. "I just used to give your health a little boost now and then. Your diet has never been ideal, you don't get enough sleep and you drink too much. I just fixed up any issues with your cardiovascular system and internal organs, as well as aching joints, that sort of thing. I did the same for Sam too. Not very often. Perhaps a few times a year."

His mouth has dropped open. "Oh, is that all?"

"Yes." I pause and then grimace. "No. I drop in and help with your nightmares sometimes. Well, I did."

"For fuck's sake, Cas!"

"I'm sorry," I snap, then rethink my response. "Actually, I'm not sorry at all. I saved you some suffering and I'm pleased with that."

Dean frowns at me but then seems to deflate, shaking his head and glancing away. "Whatever. I guess I owe you a thank you. Again."

"Yes, probably."

Green eyes meet mine, caught between affectionate and irritated. "Right, well, thank you. So, anyway. You reckon the drinking thing isn't believable?"

"It's not like I've never tried to deal with my problems through alcohol. As a short term solution, it's actually quite effe-"

"Fine! What about that crap Ezekiel was saying about you being here putting us in danger? No, wait, we can't mention Ezekiel to Sam, duh. OK, well, it made you pretty angry the other day, what I said about you wanting to go after Metatron for your ego…"

"We can't mention Metatron to Ezekiel, Dean."

"Shit, shit, you're right. Fuck. Seriously, Cas, you must have something?"

I hesitate, because something has occurred to me. It wouldn't be enough to make me leave for good - I have an uncomfortable suspicion that nothing would - but it's a buried fear of mine when it comes to mine and Dean's relationship. That's why I don't want to voice it, though. What if it's true? But we need a believable reason for me to be upset enough to storm out, and this feels like it fits that. I take a deep breath and speak to the floor, horrified to hear my voice trembling.

"Maybe you told me that you preferred me as an angel. That I'm not enough as a human. Too different, too weak."

To my shock, Dean actually laughs. I look up, hurt, but he's shaking his head as he speaks, amused. "Like anyone's gonna believe that, come on…"

I blink at him. "I think it's very believable."

Dean's smile fades as he looks at me. I try to keep my expression blank, but I must do a pretty bad job because his face falls into dismay.

"Oh, Cas. Are you really worried I'd think that?"

I swallow heavily, hating how vulnerable I feel. "It would just make sense if you did. I used to be so much more than I am now."

Dean shakes his head, eyes sad, before abruptly stepping forward and wrapping me in a hug. I squeeze my eyes shut against his shoulder, slipping my arms around his waist. I can feel tears stinging, but I'm determined not to let them fall. I've worked hard to gain control of my human emotions.

"You're more than enough," Dean murmurs into my hair, pressing a kiss there. He sighs, his breath warm across the tip of my ear. "You're still the same person, Cas. Your grace wasn't who you are. Being an angel wasn't who you are."

"How do you know?" I ask, my voice barely understandable, muffled.

He scuffs his nose against my temple. "Because I know you."

I squeeze him tightly, wanting to believe it. "I'm no use to you as a human. I can't protect you, I have no powers-"

"Stop it," he orders gruffly, fingers digging into my shoulder and back. "You ain't some weapon, Cas. Remember why you left Heaven in the first place? You aren't just a tool. You're a person. You know I always cared about more than your powers, right?"

I shrug in his arms, unwilling to speak, sure that my voice will break the way it never would have as an angel.

He pulls back and frowns down at me, close enough that I can see the patterns his freckles make across his skin. His hands settle on my shoulders, squeezing slightly. When he speaks his voice is mildly frustrated, like he's explaining the obvious. "Look, I felt the same way about you when you were an angel as I do now. And the way I feel about you… I…"

We stare at each other for several long seconds, my heart thumping, before Dean exhales softly and glances away. "Well, my feelings haven't changed. So, basically, neither have you. Not in any way that really matters. Make sense?"

"Yeah," I say hoarsely after a pause, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "That makes sense. Thank you, Dean."

He nods too, relief clear on his face, then steps back and clears his throat. "Look, despite being absolute bullshit because I don't wish you were still an angel at all, I guess it does make a pretty viable story. So we can go with that."

"OK," I agree, still smiling. Dean eyes me, suddenly nervous.

"You ready?"

The smile drops. I sigh. "Not really. But I have to go. I want to be in Fort Collins well before evening falls."

Dean nods, then steps back forward and kisses me soundly, hands warm on my waist. He pulls away. "Text me on the spare phone, remember? Keep me updated. Let me know if you need anything. And Jesus, Cas, be careful. Real careful."

"Yes," I say automatically, the panicky feeling in my chest matching the fear and worry in Dean's eyes. He stares at me for a moment before taking a deep breath and gently shoving me towards the door. I lay my trembling fingers on the handle, listening to his tense instructions behind me.

"Keep it simple. Yell me to fuck off and then just get on outta here. I'll go to the kitchen, try to stop them from following you and then make a bit of a fuss about you stealing the Impala."

"I have a feeling you won't need to do much acting for that," I comment wryly, pressing my ear to the door and listening hard to ensure that no one is outside.

"Yeah, no, I really won't. You'd better take care of Baby, Cas."

I turn back, smiling at his threatening tone, but my smile fades as our eyes hold.

"Alright," I whisper. "Here we go."

Dean inhales deeply. "Christ, this is ridiculous. OK. Let's go."

I pull the door open and stride down the hallway, eyes peeled for movement. I'm fairly sure that Sam and Kevin are in the kitchen, though. As we near the shared area of the bunker, Dean clears his throat about fifteen feet behind me. I speed up.

"Come on, Cas, don't be stupid," he snaps, voice carrying. I blur past the kitchen without even looking inside.

"Fuck off, Dean," I snarl just as loudly, imagining Metatron for extra authenticity. I'm reasonably pleased with how furious I sound. I wheel into the war room and stumble to a halt.

Sam and Kevin are sitting at the table, leaning over an enormous book, both staring at me in clear alarm. I'm frozen to the spot for several crucial moments, mouth hanging open, but I can hear Dean catching up so I rush past the table towards the stairs, heart thundering-

"Cas, what the-" Sam calls out, but I'm already starting up the stairs. I hear Dean enter the war room behind me and swear under his breath.

"Let him go," he says loudly and wildly, sounding more desperate than angry. I clatter up the stairs. "Like- like I fucking care. No, Sam, don't-"

Shit, Sam is actually coming after me. I sprint up the last few steps and heave the door open, glancing back once to see that Dean has grabbed hold of Sam's arm on the bottom step, both of them glaring at each other. Kevin has risen from his chair too, eyebrows raised comically high.

I slam the door, breathing hard, and scramble up the few steps towards the Impala. I almost drop the keys trying to unlock it but I manage it quickly, sliding in behind the wheel and sighing with relief when it only takes one go to start the engine. I take off in a rush, seeing the bunker door burst open, seeing Sam race up the steps shouting my name, looking frustrated and confused. Dean is on his heels and his eyes meet mine as he grabs his brother's elbow again, his expression hard and unreadable. Then I'm past them, roaring up the road, refusing to look in the rear view mirror.

My breathing doesn't slow for about ten minutes and it's only five minutes after that when my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I grimace and fish it out, throwing it onto the passenger seat. I wonder just how dedicated Sam is going to be to fixing this false situation. He's going to give Dean such a hard time. I feel a little ill at the thought. At least my acting role is mostly over, although I'll have to respond to Sam at some point.

I take a deep breath and settle into the seat, hands loosening slightly on the steering wheel. This is awful, all of it, but we're on our way to finding a solution. We will save Sam and we will stop Metatron and Ezekiel. And Dean and I will be together again, soon.

But for now, I'm on my own.


	32. Chapter 32

**Hello! Oh dear I'm an episode behind for once :O I enjoyed the Hitler episode, although it certainly wasn't 'the one I've been waiting for' and there was a shocking lack of Aaron...  
I've had some beautiful guest reviews lately that I couldn't PM a thank you to, and a couple of reviews from users who've disabled PM, so to those people I would like to say a huge and blushing thank you right now xxx  
** **Laughing hysterically at Trump coming dangerously close to using the term 'safe space' in his petulant tweet about the 'Hamilton' cast's utterly respectful and polite request that Mike Pence attempt not to ruin too many lives. Wow.  
** **This chapter is short and filler-y and borderline epistolary and for that I am sorry.**

* * *

 _Sam, 8:53am: Cas, pick up, Dean is a dick but he didn't mean it_

 _Sam, 9:12am: Come on, you know he cares about you, it doesn't matter whether you're an angel or not. He needs you._

 _Dean spare, 9:13am: Drive safe. Sorry it went a bit pear shaped there, things OK ish now. Sam chewing my ear off, having 2 send this from the bathroom. Be grateful ur not here to listen 2 it. U OK?_

 _Kevin, 9:21am: Hey man, just hoping you're OK? This is all really unexpected. Take all the time you need but be careful out there. Here if you need to talk. PS: wow, you have serious balls to steal the Impala haha_

 _Dean spare, 9:25am: Ah yeah ur probably not looking at ur phone right now. Fair enough, Sam must be texting u some annoying shit. He's rly mad. This sucks_

 _Sam, 9:33am: Don't do this, it's dangerous out there. You don't even have to talk to Dean right now, I know you're angry, but just come home._

 _Sam, 9:44am: This is Ezekiel. I will delete this message from Sam's device after sending it. I am proud of you, brother. You have made the right decision in leaving. I wish you good luck. Take care of yourself._

 _Sam, 9:49am: Damn it Cas pick up, now you're the one being a dick. Dean isn't the only person in the world who worries about you._

 _Sam, 9:58am: OK sorry about the last message I'm just really not OK with this whole thing. Whatever Dean said, he didn't mean it. He's nuts about you! I promise. OK?_

 _Dean spare, 10:10am: Damn, Sams rly upset about this. Just came 2 my room and gave me this whole serious speech about u. Evrything he said was true though. Tell him ur coming back once uv cleared ur head or something yeah?Text me soon OK xxx_

 _Sam, 10:17am: Right I'm clearly not getting anywhere with either of you right now. If you need time, take it, but call me soon OK? This is crazy, you two have been through way too much for one little fight to matter this much. Hope you're safe._

It's over half past ten before I stop for fuel and food, grimacing at the awful takeaway coffee but moderately pleased with the jelly doughnut. I eat outside of the car, mindful of the pristine interior, and wash my hands thoroughly in the bathroom before sliding back into the Impala and gathering the courage to read all of my texts.

My chest tightens as I read. As well as his many text messages, Sam has tried to call me six times. I scowl at Ezekiel's message and then try to put it from my mind. Returning to Sam's litany of entreaties to return, I sigh and compose a text to him, stumbling over the dishonesty that sits heavy in my gut. Like Dean, I didn't anticipate that this false break up would distress Sam so much. His pleas for me to come home and his assurances of Dean's attachment are almost worse than if he'd been angry with me for leaving his brother. I type haltingly, throat tight.

 _Hello Sam. Thank you for your concern and I'm so sorry to have worried you. Please don't call me, I need my own space right now. I think things will be OK but I just can't be around Dean for a while. Don't be angry with him, we are both at fault. I will be careful on my own and I will contact you soon and return when things are calmer. Everything will be alright._

I send with a sharp stab of guilt, but I'm doing all this for Sam, after all. At the end of it, Dean and I will explain it to him and he'll understand. I send a shorter text to Kevin, touched by his worry and amused by his admiration for my 'theft' of the Impala.

 _Kevin, thank you and I'm sorry about all this. Don't worry, I'll look after the car. I will be back at some point when I've cleared my mind. See you then._

With a sense of relief, I turn to the texts from Dean. I miss him already and it hurts to think of him silently accepting Sam's accusations. I slump back in my seat, smiling a little as I notice the 'xxx' at the end of his last text. I know enough about human written communication to recognise the shorthand for bestowing virtual kisses upon a correspondent.

 _I'm fine, I've just stopped for a break. Making good time and the Impala is unharmed. I have received quite a few messages from Sam. He's very worried and upset, yes. I'm so sorry, Dean. This was my idea and it's already caused so much pain and distress. I have texted Sam to reassure him that I will be coming back soon and to dissuade him from trying to contact me any further. Hopefully he calms down and decides to leave us to deal with the 'situation'. I estimate that I will arrive in Fort Collins between 3:00 and 3:30 pm; I will text you again then. I hope you're alright xxxxxxxxxxxx_

I add the loveheart emoticon without hesitating, my lips curving up as I press 'send'. Sam has texted me back in the time it's taken me to compose my message to Dean. I check Sam's reply and I'm relieved by what I find:

 _OK. I know I kinda blew up there but I really care about our family and you're part of it, Cas. Hope you know that. Just come home soon and take care. Not safe for you out there right now._

I sort of want to send Sam the loveheart emoticon too, although I know it's not appropriate. Still, I realise abruptly that I do love Sam. He is my family, in a different way from Dean. All of the brotherly affection that I've tried to feel for Dean comes naturally for Sam. I type back, glad that he's less upset now.

 _That means a lot to me. Thank you. Of course I'll come home soon, and of course I'll be careful. I'll text you every day to let you know I'm safe. Be kind to Dean._

I'm about to toss the phone back onto the passenger seat and start the engine when I get a reply from Dean.

 _It's alright Cas. Go get 'em. Just try not 2 die OK?_

I chuckle and lay the phone aside, starting up the Impala and pulling out of the gas station. I put the radio on after some slight fiddling and I find that I recognise a few of the songs, since it's on the same classic rock station that Dean always plays. It loses reception after half an hour and I switch to an unfamiliar, more modern station. I don't mind what music is on; it's better than listening to my own anxious thoughts. The scenery remains flat and vast as I cut across the corner of Nebraska into Colorado but as the day wears on and I zoom across the state, hills begin to break up the monotony. I don't stop for lunch and by the time I turn north towards Fort Collins I'm surrounded by mountainous scenery. If Dean was with me, if this was just a hunt or even a simple trip for the enjoyment of it, I'd be pleased to encounter a landscape different from the stretched out farmland of Kansas.

But I'm alone and scared and I barely register the mountains or the beautiful fall colours. I drive into the centre of town and after making some blind turns and starting to feel lost and incompetent, I spot a motel. I feel odd purchasing a room by myself, like I'm playing a role. Once I've parked and securely locked the car, I check the time. Barely three o'clock. I'm hungry and there's an IHOP nearby. I text Dean as I make my way there.

 _Arrived in Fort Collins, checked into the the Best Western University Inn on S College Avenue. Having some food. Will start praying afterwards. Do you think the motel is a good place to do that or should I choose a particular location?_

Entering the IHOP, I order strawberry banana pancakes and sit carefully at a window table, eyeing the other customers suspiciously. My phone buzzes within a minute.

 _Good, thanks 4 letting me know. Yeah the motel is fine, just make sure u put a few banishing sigils around ready for any trouble. Have ur angel blade on u and a gun as well. Leave the car open and stay near the door to get away quick. U put angel warding on the car?_

I blink down at the text. I hadn't thought of warding the Impala, but it seems obvious now. I reply in haste.

 _I will definitely be sure to do all of those things. Thank you. How are you doing?_

A waitress brings my pancakes at that moment, giving me a half-smile and a nod. I recall how Dean often speaks to wait staff, which I assume is the standard protocol.

"Thanks, sugar," I say with a wink. She pauses and shoots me a quelling look, somewhere between disdainful and disgusted. I watch her walk away, my shoulders slumping. I thought that becoming human might improve my social skills, but if anything I'm even worse at interacting with people now. I eat my pancakes glumly, adding too much maple syrup because it tastes good but then finding that even for me, sweetness has a limit. I still finish the overly sugary meal, not wanting to waste it. Dean texts back just as I'm finishing.

 _Sorry, Sam came by with a coffee. He's stopped yelling at me which is great but he's started with the whole mother hen routine, swear he's gonna paint my toenails and put on a fuckin rom com next. What did u get 4 food?_

I snort as I read the message, thinking of how much Sam must be relishing the chance to look after Dean. I have no idea what a 'rom com' is but I decide not to bother asking.

 _Let him do it, he loves to care for you. I had strawberry banana pancakes at IHOP._

 _Why would u do that when they have stuffed french toast, holy shit dude. Fruit? Ur just as bad as Sam wow_

 _I like fruit!_

I add a barrage of strawberry and banana emoticons, grinning widely down at the screen. Dean's response is swift and free from any emoticons, as usual.

 _There's a time and a place 4 fruit Cas, IHOP is not it. U didn't even have any bacon as part of ur meal did u?_

 _No, I'm not fond of bacon. I already apologised twice for that, Dean._

 _It's a major food group, ur missing out. Love of bacon is an American value._

 _I'm not American. I don't recall you bemoaning the lack of bacon or any other meat in that seitan stir fry that Sam made three nights ago._

 _WHAT THE FUCK NO THAT WAS CHICKEN_

I laugh out loud, earning myself a slightly concerned look from the waitress who's been avoiding my table since I accidentally offended her. Biting my lip, I put a laughing emoticon at the beginning of my reply.

 _Was it? Maybe you should check with Sam. Although I suppose you can't, because this conversation is a secret. That must be frustrating._

 _Fuck u nope no way, that was chicken_

Chortling, I simply send back a winking face. It was definitely seitan, because Sam gloated about his subterfuge for a full fifteen minutes while Dean was in the shower that night. He swore me to secrecy, but Dean's outrage is too amusing to resist. Even more amusing is imagining him trying to casually ask Sam about the stir fry without betraying the fact that he's been talking to me.

Feeling much more cheerful, I scoop up the last forkful of syrup-drenched pancake with a smile on my face, despite the danger and difficulty that lies ahead.


	33. Chapter 33

**WARNING: brief suicidal kinda stuff arises here, if that especially bothers you it shouldn't be too bad but just be on the look out for that. Also violence.  
Right so we're entering a very Dean-lite portion of the story here, which shouldn't last too long but I do apologise to those of you who are only here for the actual destiel. This is actual Castiel instead and I loved writing it soooo much (sorry Dean) but yeah, Dean's not really playing much of a role right now. He will be back and destiel will rule this fic again, some day soon.  
I did research stuff writing this but I didn't re-watch any of season 9 so I may have missed some crucial point, idk. I know I've definitely screwed up timelines. I don't care a whole lot tbh, this is already canon divergent.  
Up to date with the show and whilst I adored the Asa Fox episode (I need those hunter twins and Asa's bitchy mum to be back on the show ASAP) I was frustrated by 'Rock Never Dies'. Why is Cas so crappy and weak now? Where was Cas's sexy leather jacket? Why the fuck is he still wearing that fucking coat? ARRRRGHHHHHH anyway whatever, it's nice that Jensen and Danneel have had their ridiculously named, genetically blessed twins :)**

* * *

By the time I find a store to purchase the specific easily washed off paint that Dean insists is the only kind I'm allowed to apply to the Impala, it's sunset. I paint the warding on from memory, shining the light of my phone from an angle to see the black markings. I notice that my phone needs charging and I plug it in as I carefully begin daubing banishing sigils in my blood on either side of the motel room. It's an unpleasant process; I have to slice into my forearm three times to get it done, as my blood keeps clotting too fast. It's frustrating how hard it is to cut into my own flesh as a human. The instincts and the pain are almost insurmountable at first.

I bandage up my arm with a sigh of relief when I complete two banishing sigils on either side of the room, dutifully taking two painkillers with water. I'm not used to dealing with human sensation under stress and I don't want to be compromised because I'm slightly wounded. I place a gun under my pillow and a spare angel blade from the Impala's trunk in the bathroom drawer, keeping my own blade tucked into the back of my jeans under my shirts. I stand in the centre of the room, eyes darting around, trying to remember if I've forgotten anything. I scroll back through the texts from Dean listing what I need to do. Everything is accounted for.

Taking a slow and shaky breath, I stand between the door and one of the banishing sigils and I begin to pray.

It's a bizarre feeling. I prayed to God as an angel, but praying to my father felt different from praying to the entire angelic host as a human. I keep my prayer vague, not mentioning my identity. I speak out loud to strengthen it.

"I am calling on the fallen angels of Heaven. I need help. I am under threat and I need the assistance of an angel. I know you exist, I know you have been hurt, but I also know that you can hear me. Please, come to my aid. Please help me."

I pause and wonder if that will be enough. Leaning against the wall, I watch as the digital bedside clock flickers its way through ten minutes before I decide to repeat the prayer.

"I require assistance. Br- angels of Heaven who now walk the Earth, please, hear me and come to my aid."

Swallowing, I hope fervently that no one listening realised that I was about to say 'brothers and sisters'. I wait just five minutes this time, fiddling with my sleeve, before launching into my spiel again.

"I call upon any angel who can hear me to come and help me. I am praying directly to those who fell from Heaven. I know you exist. I know what… Metatron did. I need the help of a real angel, not just spiritual guidance. I need whoever is hearing this to come and aid me in person."

Hopefully mentioning Metatron will pique the curiosity of anyone listening. I'm painfully aware that many angels must have heard at least rumours that I've become human, meaning that I've all but revealed my identity for anyone looking to join the clues together. I can only hope that I'm not as hated as I suspect.

Another ten minutes creeps by.

"Angels of Heaven-"

There is a firm knock at the door.

My voice dies in my throat as I freeze, gazing unblinking at the opposite wall. The angel sigil there is hidden behind the sliding bathroom door. The one beside me, however, will be plainly seen if I close the door once my visitor is in the room. I suddenly wonder if this was a wise way to set it up. Visibly treating whoever answers my prayer as a threat isn't conducive to establishing an alliance. How can this have only occurred to me now?

The person at the door knocks again.

I push off from the wall and grip the door handle, heart jumping uncomfortably. Blinking hard, I pull the door halfway open, peering out warily.

A nondescript middle-aged, paunchy man of vague, possibly Indian ethnicity stands outside, eyes narrowed in what looks like suspicion. We stare at each other for several seconds and I hate the fact that I can't tell in the slightest whether he's human or angel. He quickly solves the mystery for me, though, in a cold and detached voice.

"Hello. I've come to answer your prayer."

I swallow and nod. "Yes. Thank you for coming."

The angel nods once and steps forward, clearly expecting me to move aside. I do so, feeling deeply uneasy. How could I have expected to just know whether to trust the angel who answered my prayer? I have no way to tell at all. The newcomer halts in the centre of my room, casting a glance around before swinging back to face me. Taking a deep breath, I shut the door, revealing the banishing sigil. The angel's eyebrows raise in surprise.

"You know a lot about us, for a human," he comments mildly, assessing me with bright brown eyes. I shrug.

"I know that I need help, and only an angel can do what I need."

"Which is?"

I shake my head silently. "Who are you, first of all? Tell me your name, tell me how things have been for you since the fall, who you were before the fall."

He frowns at me. "None of that would mean much to a human."

"Humour me."

"I came here to offer you help, and I find that you have set up defences as though I am your enemy. Now you demand that I prove myself to you. Why should I help you?"

My stomach clenches. Everything he's saying is perfectly reasonable, and I don't want to jeopardise this chance at securing help for Sam, but this angel's reluctance to be open with me is putting me even more on edge than I already was. I shuffle a step away from the banishing sigil and my companion's eyes zero in on the movement, a sharp spark of interest showing. My stomach clenches harder. I abruptly decide that I will not share who I am with this angel. I don't wish to lie outright if it can be helped, though. I choose my next words carefully.

"I know enough about angels to be cautious. But I do not wish to be your enemy. Now, please… your name?"

He pauses before answering. "Ezekiel."

My eyes narrow. "Impossible."

For an instant, his mouth tightens, but he only looks amused a moment later. "Oh? How so?"

I can't say that I know Ezekiel already; I don't want to give anything of myself away to this stranger now that he's lied. Inching back towards the banishing sigil, I shake my head. "Never mind how I know that you're lying. The fact remains, you are not Ezekiel."

He nods slowly. "Impressive. You've been keeping tabs on us since the fall, then. Very well, my true name is Raziel. How did you learn of Ezekiel's death?"

"Raziel," I repeat, trying to remember whether I knew him in Heaven-

Death.

Ezekiel's death?

"Ezekiel's death," I repeat hollowly. Raziel nods. I shake my head but then pause. He could be lying again. Or he could be telling the truth, and we may have been living with an impostor all this time. With a growing sense of horror, I realise that I've always felt that Ezekiel has become a stranger since I last knew him. What if I've felt that way because he really has been a stranger all along? I gather myself and decide that clinging to murky honesty is pointless and foolish. I'm going to have to admit who I am and risk attack, or lie outright. I opt for the latter.

"I was once possessed by an angel. They were banished from me and I memorised the sigil, which is how I knew to recreate it tonight. They left some sort of channel open when they left, a link. I hear things. Snatches of angelic communication. I heard the fall. I heard reports of Ezekiel's death too."

It's not something that I'm aware of as possible, but even angels know very little about what can occur during possession since it never used to be a common thing for many of us to do. It sounds believable enough to me. Raziel nods, a furrow between his brows, watching me closely.

"Fascinating. Alright. I will help you, in whatever you require. Come, sit with me. Tell me what I can do for you."

He settles calmly on the end of my bed, hands clasped in his lap. He looks entirely non-threatening, but I feel ill with anxiety at the thought of moving away from my banishing sigil. Still, vague recollections of Raziel are coming back to me. He was a friend of Bartholomew's and Bartholomew followed me during the civil war. I didn't necessarily like Bartholomew, but he was a good soldier and leader and if Raziel is one of his, I can probably trust him. I trusted Bartholomew, after all. I step away from the banishing sigil and begin to make my way across the room in front of Raziel, eyes fixed on him, trying to look more relaxed than I feel as I settle into leaning against the counter opposite him, hands resting by my hips.

"Raziel," I begin, then pause, deciding to give him one last test. "I've heard tell of the civil war up in Heaven, the fall of Raphael. Did you fight for him?"

"For Raphael?" Raziel says, looking amused once more. "Of course not. I served under my leader and good friend Bartholomew, and together we fought for the rebel angel Castiel."

I swallow and nod thoughtfully, as though this is new information. "I see. And Castiel… is he dead too?"

Raziel stands smoothly, still smiling faintly, the expression almost warm. I tense up as he steps towards me and in the corner of my eye, I see his fingers twitch.

"Not yet," he says, and then he lunges forward, angel blade appearing in his out-thrust fist. I throw myself sideways and cry out as the blade slices shallowly through my side, hot blood immediately soaking my shirt at my waist, equally hot pain coursing through me. I stagger to the bathroom door and turn to see Raziel advancing on me with his teeth bared, feral and furious, blade gleaming red in the lamplight. Breathing hard with tears stinging my eyes, I step back beside the door, leaning against the wall. Raziel is stalking me, clearly not seeing this as a fight so much as an execution.

"Why?" I snarl, feeling the pain of betrayal and anger just as keenly as the pain of a knife wound. Raziel sneers.

"Why? Try to guess why. I imagine you are more than capable of understanding how it feels to have fallen from Heaven, Castiel. No one has fallen further than you. But you couldn't do it alone, hmm? You had to drag the rest of us into your mistakes too. Now all of Heaven is suffering, because we are not Heaven any more. You've made refugees of us all. You used to be a hero! I used to think I had honour fighting under your name, back when it was worth something, but this will be the greatest honour. Giving you the fate you deserve. If you had any honour yourself, you'd have done the job already."

I press my lips together, aching, and for a moment I wonder why the hell I haven't done as Raziel is suggesting and finished myself off already. I deserve it. Raziel deserves to do it. I should be dead anyway.

But then he lunges again, and Dean's face flashes across my mind, and I realise why I'm still alive. It's simple. I don't want to die.

I duck sideways, slamming the bathroom door closed as I move, gritting my teeth against the protesting wound in my side. I can hear Raziel close behind me and I'm amazed that I don't feel the angel blade sinking into my back even as I flatten my palm against the dried banishing sigil on the wall, watching it glow and ignite, hearing Raziel's shout of fury and frustration close enough to turn my stomach. But he's gone even as I squint back over my shoulder, the blinding light dimming and leaving nothing but an empty room in its wake.

I turn my face back to the wall and try to take a deep breath but my knees buckle, to my shock and dismay. I scrabble weakly at the wall as I sink to the floor, finding it harder and harder to draw breath until I hear myself let out a ragged sob. Bunching my ruined shirt at my cut waist, I press my forehead to the wall and screw my eyes shut, trying to keep the low sound from bubbling up in my throat again. It doesn't work.

Between the distressing pain in my side and the tears streaming down my face as I fight for control against a scuffed motel room wall, I barely notice my phone vibrate in my pocket as it receives a text message. What I have far more trouble overlooking, though, is the firm knock at the door, followed by a voice speaking words that I now wish I'd never heard this evening:

"Hello? I've come to answer your prayer."


	34. Chapter 34

**Hey! Short chapter, sorry. Might be taking an extra week or so off after the next update, busy right now! Still invested in this fic, don't worry.  
Certainly more invested in this fic than I am with the show. Honestly, they could announce tomorrow that it's cancelled and I think I'd feel relieved.  
Anyway, regardless, it's Christmas and that's a cheerful time! Whether you celebrate the day or not, this is a good time of year to treasure what you have and feel compassion for those less fortunate. I hope that everyone's keeping Aleppo in their hearts and minds, but I also hope that you're all smiling about something! There's a lot to smile about in this world, when you make the effort to look properly. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, and a Happy New Year! xxx**

* * *

It takes me several seconds to really understand what's happening as the person knocking at my door repeats themselves. Inhaling wetly, I blink away the tears as quickly as they came, wincing as I struggle to my feet. Still holding my hand to the wound in my side that's emitting a concerning amount of blood, I hobble to the door, breathing harshly and sniffing a little. I feel like a wreck. I'm pulling my phone out even as I reach the door, fumbling one-handed to open the new text. It's from Dean.

 _Ah shit I know uve probably got it all under control but could u just send a quick text confirming ur alive? Bored as fuck and worrying a bit here_

I'm still staring down at my phone as I let go of my side to pull the door open, smearing fresh blood all over the handle. I'm feeling light-headed so it takes me a moment to look up and focus on the angel standing outside. She's pretty in a serious sort of way, peering at me with intense blue eyes overshadowed by a thick, dark brown fringe. I think a little blearily that she sort of reminds me of my own reflection.

"Hello," I say dumbly, still holding my phone, pressing my other hand back to my wound. She looks down at my bloodied side and raises her eyebrows.

"Well, I can see why you were praying."

I just gaze at her and she eyes me suspiciously for a moment before sighing and stepping forward into my space. I tense up belatedly and she ignores it, hovering her hand just above mine over my gore-soaked shirt. I can half-see the glow in my peripheral vision as she heals me but she stares thoughtfully into my eyes the entire time and I can't quite look away. The pain goes, the horribly stretched, torn feeling of the damaged skin fades away, even the blood disappears and my light-headedness does too. I blink at the angel in surprised gratitude. She continues to survey me from inches away, looking reluctantly fascinated.

"Thank you," I say haltingly. She nods almost absently, still staring into my eyes. I almost feel like I'm getting in the way of whatever she's looking for, so I fall silent and look right back. After too many seconds, she purses her lips and steps back again, folding her arms.

"Castiel," she states. I jump, immediately wary. "You are Castiel, aren't you?"

I open my mouth to lie but instead I nod. Furious with myself, I snap my mouth back closed, frowning. She continues with a grimace.

"I see. Well, I hate to say this, but I don't want to kill you. I thought I might get here and feel all this righteous fury but… I suppose I was never very good at that. Can I come in?"

I swallow. "Who are you?"

She cocks her head at me before answering. "My name is Hannah."

I nod slowly as though I've heard of her. I haven't. I step aside to let her in, reasoning with myself that if this Hannah wanted me dead she had every opportunity to smite me instead of healing me.

Hannah walks in with an air of curiosity, peering about the room. She halts, nodding at the burned out sigil by the bathroom door. "I see I'm not the first to have answered your prayer."

"I'm afraid not," I say sourly, shutting the door. I hesitate before crossing past her to get to the bathroom, but she doesn't move. Once I have the bathroom door open I watch Hannah over my shoulder in the mirror. As before, she stares back as though something about me deeply interests her. It makes me uneasy, but somehow I already feel that I trust her. I wash my blood from my hands quickly before grabbing my phone again and composing a reply to Dean.

 _I'm OK. Discovered that there are definitely angels out there who are not friendly to me, to say the least. Talking to a less hostile angel now. Have more to tell you but will update later xxx_

Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I look back up to see that Hannah is frowning at the floor. I wonder what exactly troubles her. It could be anything about this situation, really. She clearly knows who I am and understands, correctly, that she should loathe me. Yet something is staying her hand, and unless I'm indulging in some serious wishful thinking, she is considering aiding me. I feel exhausted, but relieved that this angel seems to at least want to talk rather than destroy me. I step back into the bedroom and push a hand awkwardly through my hair.

"So, Hannah-" I begin hesitantly. She interrupts quickly.

"Look, Castiel, a lot of us are extremely angry at you, but a lot of us also understand that you were fooled by Metatron. He's the one who's really to blame. So whilst I am doubtful of you, I am not here to harm you. I answered your prayer out of curiosity more than anything, but also because once not so long ago, you were Heaven's only hope. At least, it seemed that way for those of us who opposed Raphael. With the way things are, it's hard to ignore a prayer from someone who used to be the hero of Heaven."

I wince at the slight bitterness in her tone, but I realise to my own surprise that I actually like Hannah. It's been some time since I've met one of my kin - ex-kin - whom I've genuinely liked. My phone buzzes again in my pocket but I ignore it for now, watching Hannah closely. She eyes me unhappily before sighing and gesturing at the now-spotless tear in my shirt where the angel blade ripped through it into my flesh.

"Who attacked you?"

I frown, touching my healed side. "His name was Raziel. I don't… I wouldn't have thought that he would be an enemy of mine, even now. He fought for me in the war. He was under Bartholomew-"

"Exactly," Hannah interrupts, as though I'm missing a point. I blink at her and she elaborates a little impatiently. "Bartholomew wants you dead. You didn't know that? He hasn't been subtle about it, he's got angels all over the country looking for you."

I step back and lean back heavily against the counter again, feeling sick. "Bartholomew?"

Hannah nods slowly, a look of distaste on her serious face. "He wants power and he seems to think that running a hate campaign is how to get it. So he's made you into a scapegoat for all of Heaven's problems, because you're an easier target than Metatron I guess, and he's going to kill you and make himself into the hero who avenged Heaven. At least, that's what those of us who oppose him can make out from his propaganda. It's all very human. I barely recognise some of my own species any more."

I give a hollow laugh, staring at the floor. "Yeah. I barely am my own species any more. In fact, I'm not. I make a terrible human, though. I'm not sure what that makes me."

"Does it matter?" Hannah says sharply. I look up at her, startled. She looks frustrated, annoyed, saddened… I realise, with a jolt, that she looks disappointed.

"It matters to me…" I say somewhat weakly. Hannah purses her lips, glancing away. She pauses before she next speaks, her voice quiet but raising as she talks.

"Castiel, you used to serve Heaven. Not like the rest of us did, mindlessly following the orders of the angels at the top of the hierarchy. No, you rebelled and turned it all upside down and betrayed your own biology… yet you still served Heaven, you served all of us. You were a true revolutionary. For millennia we've been drones, no will, no wonder, no love or pride for who we are and what our home means to us. Now you've shown us those things. What does that make you? I think it makes you a leader."

I feel a little dazed as she finishes speaking, eyes flashing with conviction. I was vaguely aware that whilst many angels have despised me since I rebelled, many others hold me up as some kind of hero. It's flattering, but inaccurate. The sad truth is that I really did do it all for Dean. I didn't just fall in love with him, I reshaped my entire purpose and existence around him. Only afterwards did I scramble together some sense of freedom and defiance, only once I'd thrown Heaven aside for Dean did I look back and realise that I could still fight for it and be of some use to my brethren. I was trying to fix my mistakes more than I was crusading for a cause I deeply believed it.

But Hannah is looking at me with shining blue eyes and a sense of hope in a bleak new world. How can I deny her that? I shift uncomfortably, clearing my throat.

"Hannah," I begin carefully, "I think it's amazing that you and others see me that way. And you're right; you're not just drones, you're not just… hammers, tools to be used. I was shown that, and my life has been a mess ever since, but I don't regret it. But Hannah… this is where that path has led me. I'm not even an angel any more. I'm only a human, I can't help you. I'm the one who needs your help."

Hannah is shaking her head, jaw set stubbornly. "You can get your grace back."

I freeze, heart thumping. Because I haven't been letting myself think about that possibility. I don't even know if it's what I want. I don't know if it's what Dean wants, which feels like the more important question, although it shouldn't be. I clear my throat again, rougher.

"Maybe. Regardless, I have no intention of letting Metatron escape punishment, whether he still has my grace or not. But right now I cannot focus on that. I am just a human and like I keep saying: it's your help that I need."

I trust Hannah, I realise suddenly. I trust her with Sam, with my family. She looks unhappy, brow furrowed beneath her bangs, but after a pause she nods.

"What can I do?"

I sag with relief and then stand up straight, stepping towards her. "Thank you. What I need you to do will sound strange, but hopefully it won't take a great deal more time now. I have a human friend who was gravely hurt, and in order to-"

"Wait," she hisses, holding a hand up to halt me. I fall silent, tensing. Hannah flicks her gaze towards the door, eyes narrowed. I'm about to ask what it is when she looks back up at me, mouth set and grim.

"Reaper," she whispers, barely audible. "Bartholomew's not going to stop hunting you, Castiel."

I swallow. Rogue reapers are definitely something to be feared. But they are also basically as susceptible to banishing sigils as any other angel. Unfortunately, so is Hannah. I grimace and touch her arm then nod towards the remaining sigil, raising my hand to mime pressing it. She hesitates and then nods.

"Damage it first, so that I'm not sent far" she whispers, "and then get out of here. I'll find you quicker than anyone else now that I'm familiar with your soul. Others will be chasing you too though. Be alert."

I nod shortly and then stride over to the sigil. A knock comes at the door. With a calmness I don't feel, I lick my thumb and then scrub a break in the main circle, damaging the power of the sigil. Hopefully it's not rendered powerless.

"Hello?" comes a smooth female voice from behind the door. I take a deep breath and pull the door open, staying behind it with my hand hovering over the sigil. My eyes meet Hannah's as the reaper steps into the room.

"Who are y-"

I slam my hand down onto the sigil and watch it flare weakly but angrily under my palm, hear the cut-off shout as the reaper and Hannah are sent away. The light fades and I'm left alone, heart hammering.

It barely takes me a few seconds to leap into action, gathering my belongings and rushing out to the Impala with them, thankful that I'll be undetectable to angels as long as I'm inside it. Jumping in, I start the engine and roar out of the parking lot, picking a direction at random.

I just hope that Hannah wasn't sent too far.


	35. Chapter 35

**Hope you've all had/are still having a happy holidays! I had a lovely time. Glad to be home though!  
This is the last chapter I'll be posting for a month or two, sorry! Super busy right now. Definitely still got plans for this fic though!  
See you in a while and I hope this is an alright place to leave you for a hellatus (really am sorry!) xxx**

* * *

 _All I want 2 know then is who the fuck is in my brother?_

 _I don't know. Clearly not Ezekiel, if Raziel was speaking the truth._

 _Might not've been, sounds like a dick_

 _He was quite unpleasant. So was his blade._

 _Yeah remind me 2 send this Hannah chick flowers. U were on ur way 2 hospital when she showd up right?_

 _If you wish to give her flowers then have them waiting at the bunker, posting them will not work. And whether I was going to hospital doesn't matter now. What matters is I've found a suitable angel to help us and as soon as I find her again I'll bring her to you. Are you prepared?_

 _Dude, it fucking matters, ur human and u can't just heal up without help. If u get hurt there won't always b a nice angel around 2 help ok?_

 _OK, I understand that. But are you prepared for me to bring Hannah to replace the angel inside Sam?_

 _Yeah got the spells. What's she like then?_

 _Hannah is an unusual angel. She is something of an idealist, perhaps even a romanticist, or as close as an angel can get. She's kind and passionate._

 _Huh, sounds just like u… I like her already. Good work Cas, thanks._

I blink tiredly down at the bright little screen of my cellphone, my eyes aching. It's the early hours of the morning and I'm no longer mentally equipped to process new ideas. Is Hannah like me? I suppose she is. It's a comforting thought, because I like and respect her. I feel bad about leaving her to wonder where I've disappeared to overnight, because she has no way of knowing about the warded Impala protecting me. Hopefully she won't assume that I've been killed.

Yawning, I decide reluctantly that it's time for sleep. I don't want to cut off the conversation with Dean, though. He called me soon after I drove away from my motel room and I ignored road safety by holding a phone call with him for almost half an hour whilst driving the car. But then he had to return to the bunker from the walk he'd taken to be able to call me, and we were restricted to texting. I was on the far outskirts of Fort Collins by then, up on a hill overlooking the small city, and I parked up for the night. Now, an hour later, I'm finally too tired to text Dean.

 _You're very welcome, Dean. I have to sleep now. I'll text you in the morning. Goodnight xxx_

He replies quickly and I curl around the phone with a fond smile, trying to get comfortable in the partially reclined front seat, tucked into a musty blanket.

 _OK, get some sleep. Miss u. Stay safe._

I fall asleep thinking that I miss Dean too, more than even I expected to.

I wake up before dawn, after just over four hours of sleep. I'm chilly and aching and lonely as I stretch and feel around for my bottle of water. I wonder blearily how Dean's coped living most of his life on minimal sleep. In the short time that we've been sharing a bed, Dean's told me - with his endearing shy smile that indicates he means more than he's saying - that he's been sleeping for longer than he used to, despite always falling asleep after me and getting up well before me.

Rolling my aching neck and shoulders, I open the door and shiver at the cool breeze that hits me. At least I'm more awake now. It's time to get out of the Impala and hope that Hannah shows up before anyone else.

Clambering out and stretching in the cold air, I jump as my phone vibrates in my jeans pocket. I pull it out to see a text from Dean.

 _Mornin sunshine! Sorry if this wakes u up but u should b up early anyway to find this Hannah chick and get back here. Got a plan 2 stick 2. Hope ur all good._

I smile wearily as I type back. Obviously Dean has reverted back to his previous sleeping habits.

 _I just woke up. Good morning. She should be able to find me now, I'm waiting for her. I am still unharmed, if not very well rested._

 _How was sleeping in Baby? Ha ha a night with her'll leave u sore…_

I narrow my eyes. Dean has added a winking emoticon to his text, which is unusual for him and makes it clear that his comment is probably some form of euphemism or innuendo. I think about it for a moment and then chuckle as I understand the joke. Predictably, it's sexual innuendo. I add a laughing emoticon to my response.

 _I have discovered that for myself, unfortunately._

 _Ha ha yep. Look I have 2 go, Sam wants 2 talk again now I've slept on it or whatever. Should b fun… good luck with Hannah and txt me later with an update. Stay alert xxx_

My mouth twitches at the 'x' kisses. The dull ache to be back at the bunker intensifies raggedly and I heave a deep sigh, typing back sadly.

 _Alright. I'll be back as soon as possible xxx_

I gulp down some water, rub unhappily at my neck and watch the beginnings of sunrise light up Fort Collins below. It's a pretty view, and I try to muster up some positivity as I ponder it. It might not take long for Hannah to find me at all, and I've already decided that once I've reunited with her I'm going to ward myself. It's imperative that none of Bartholomew's assassins, or any other angel or stranger at all, follow me back to the bunker. I need to get a tattoo to prevent that from happening.

I start to make a list in my mind of possible tattoo locations on my body. The first one that comes to mind is my chest, in the same place that Sam and Dean have their demon warding. I get slightly sidetracked thinking that Dean's tattoo suits him and remembering the way he always huffs an odd, almost embarrassed laugh when I kiss him there. The embarrassment transfers to me as I contemplate getting a tattoo in a matching location to Dean. No, I won't get it on my chest.

I look down at my arms. Arms are a common tattoo location. I could get the necessary Enochian script wrapping around my upper arm. But Enochian generally needs to be written on a flat surface to work at full capacity for warding; some of the symbols are too similar to each other and have to be very carefully shaped. My arm would be unwise.

I think of the flat stretches of flesh on my body. My torso would be best. I consider my back but dismiss it; I want to watch it being done to be sure that no mistakes are made.

Stomach and ribs are left, then. I decide quickly that a stomach tattoo would simply look strange, so ribs it is. I pause to wonder at my developing sense of vanity. Prior to falling, the aesthetics of a tattoo - of anything in the physical realm - wouldn't have even occurred to me. Now, the thought of looking unattractive or foolish worries me, and not even entirely because of my relationship with Dean. I've changed through becoming human.

The thought comes to me that even if I do recover my grace, I might never be a true angel after this. I might always be caught halfway to humanity. I remember Anna's sad eyes after becoming an angel again, and I shiver.

I'm startled out of my reverie by the sound of a car turning onto the gravel road leading to my little lookout carpark. Tensing, I pull my angel blade out from the back of my jeans once more. It's a small car and the sun is reflecting on the windows in a way that makes it impossible to see inside. I imagine Bartholomew's face through the glaring glass, although I know that he was always the sort to delegate tasks like killing. Raziel's cold eyes flash in my mind and I start to sweat even in the cool air; what if the sigil didn't send him as far as it should have? Even a small scratch or a hastily daubed sigil-

The car stops a dozen yards away, and Hannah climbs out.

"Hello, Castiel," she says solemnly. I collapse sideways against the Impala in a rush of relief, weak with dissipating fear. Rolling to lean back, I tip my face towards the pale blue sky and thank my absent Father.

"Hello, Hannah," I reply hoarsely, still staring upwards. I take a few deep breaths and then straighten up, stowing my blade back in my jeans. She hasn't moved from standing in her open car door, her mildly puzzled expression half-obscured by her dark tresses wafting in the hilltop breeze.

"Weren't you expecting me?" she asks slowly. I nod hastily.

"I was. I just wasn't sure if you'd still come, or who else might show up first. But you're here. Thank you."

She nods in a way that would probably be accompanied by a shrug if she were a little more fluent in human body language. "I was confused by your disappearance all night, but I assumed you had found a way to ward yourself while you slept."

"The car is warded. I think it would be a good idea for me to ward myself more permanently though. Before I take you back to where I live - where my friend needs your help - would it be alright if we stopped for me to get a warding tattoo?"

Hannah gives that disinterested nod again and I wonder if I was this distant when I first interacted with humans, with Dean and Sam and Bobby. No wonder they were wary around me. Laboriously, I open up the maps application on my phone. I used it to reach Fort Collins and I was hoping not to use it again despite its helpfulness, but it would be rude to lead Hannah in a meandering search for a tattoo parlour. Finding a place back down in the city, I wince as the strange robotic voice begins to direct me there. I ask Hannah to follow me and she gives me an enigmatic look as she slides back into her seat.

I dig a granola bar out from my bag before I settle into the driver's seat and set off. I feel too anxious and elated and terrified to be hungry, but I'm aware that I need to eat to keep my energy levels up. My eyes keep flitting to Hannah's - undoubtedly stolen using what Dean has referred to in the past as 'Jedi powers' - little car in the rear view mirror, both comforted and discomfited by her presence. I have no doubt that I've found the right angel to help Sam, but I already care about Hannah to some extent and I'm probably leading her into a fight. I dismiss the thought forcefully. Sam is in more danger than Hannah, and he has to come first.

Hannah is a clumsy driver, but she probably taught herself the skill very recently so I can't judge her. It's a sad reminder that all angels have lost the use of their wings, not just me.

We reach the little strip of shops containing my chosen tattoo parlour and park. I detain Hannah for probably too long in the parking lot, enlisting her second opinion as to what wording to use and how much it can be condensed and simplified whilst still being effective. After around fifteen minutes of discussion, we finalise the design and I stride almost excitedly to the tattoo shop door.

They're closed. The sign says that they open at ten o'clock. I check my phone to see that it's just past nine.

"Damn it," I hiss, causing Hannah to shoot me a look that's mingled amusement and reproach. I sigh, shaking my head. "I'm sorry. We'll have to wait in the Impala. Is that OK?"

Hannah gives what is becoming a very familiar nod, calm and quiet, and turns on her heel to go to the Impala. I follow after her, but as I slide into the Impala Hannah reaches out to touch my knee, stilling me. I look at her, alert, to see her eyes wide and concerned.

"The reaper's back," she whispers through barely parted lips. "Other side of the shops but getting closer. Drive, Castiel, now!"

I scramble to start the engine and reverse out of the space, heart thumping. Speeding across the small but semi-crowded parking lot as safely as possible, I glance back just as we turn out of view to see the nose of a car cruising slowly around the corner of the furthest store. I release a shaky breath as we tear up the street and I take a series of random turns until, a few minutes later, Hannah lays a cool and gentle hand over mine on the wheel.

"I'm confident that she's not following us."

I give Hannah a look that I'm sure is wild-eyed and frightened. "I was only outside the car for fifteen minutes, Hannah!"

She grimaces. "Yes, the reaper must have been nearby. It's lucky they're so loud when they communicate using the telepathic network. They seem to have no concept of a private message. I hear them coming before they can sense me, but not long before. I-"

"Hannah," I interrupt harshly. "I don't wish to be rude, but please be quiet for a few minutes."

She falls silent immediately and I'm grateful for the fact that most angels are not easily offended. My mind is racing as I drive until I merge into a main road heading south and I make a decision.

"Alright," I begin, a little nervous. "What I propose is that we drive down to Denver, which is further than we need to go to be en route back to where my family live-"

I pause, catching my breath as I realise that I've referred to Dean, Sam and Kevin as my family without thinking about it. Another glance at Hannah shows her frowning at her knees as though troubled. I decide to keep talking.

"So that will already mislead Bartholomew. In Denver, we will go to a tattoo parlour and get me warded."

"Bartholomew has angels looking for you in Denver too."

"I know. But warding drawn onto me will work until the tattoo is complete. You can apply the warding to me with pen. It will protect me as the work is carried out and you can stay in the car outside, ready to intervene if you sense any angels. They aren't looking for you, it's me they're sensing. But they won't sense you anyway as long as you're inside the Impala, and they will sense nothing of me if I'm warded."

Hannah is looking at me now, but I keep my eyes on the road, feeling nervous. It's not a bad plan, but strangely I want Hannah's approval. Finally, she speaks.

"Alright. Do you have a pen? I don't."

I relax and smile, relieved. "Yes, I have a pen. When we locate a tattoo parlour in Denver we'll park and you can draw the warding onto me according to the design we finalised back there."

Hannah agrees quietly. I think idly of her little car back at the small shopping strip. I hope that she wasn't very attached to it.

The rest of the drive to Denver is spent in companionable silence and I think, yet again, that I really do very much like Hannah.


	36. Chapter 36

**I LIIIIIIIIVE! Haha sorry about the extended absence, I was travelling and then settling in back at my parents' place. I'm sorry to say that there will be another delay before the next chapter, because I have not yet written the next chapter. I'm sure I will soon though!  
**

 **I've kinda re-shaped Hannah a tad. Idk. I think I've made her more bohemian than she is in canon. I've softened her initial determination to get things back to how they used to be and focused more on the Hannah who was Cas's friend, who had a bit of a crush on him and who questioned herself and her nature. It's still all Hannah, just not Hannah quite as we first knew her. I did like Hannah a lot; she was the closest we got to fem!Cas (well until the show actually gave us fem!Cas).**

 **Speaking of the show... slight rant now which you can feel free to skip, but nothing bad. I'm liking it. The latest ep was great! Speight Jr did a brilliant job. As for destiel, I feel weird about it. On one hand, Cas and Dean are closer than ever and they are so fucking married, so comfortable and familiar with each other now, so healthy and cute, and I love it. I love seeing Castiel Winchester living full time in the bunker (why is he still wearing that dumbass coat though BURN IT and wear jeans and plaid already), I love all the pep talks and attention he's getting from the brothers (about time they started saying shit to Cas instead of assuming he already knows it), I love that Dean is comically protective and Sam is all patient understanding and Mary called Cas one of her boys. I breathe that shit. But on the other hand, this is the most I have ever felt like the show is working at genuinely portraying it as a brotherly relationship. I don't buy it, of course; I can't, I see this relationship as romantic and I always have and I always will. The show did that in the first place, it really is just too late now. But I've been saying for a long time now that the queerbaiting is what angers me, not the lack of canon. What I wanted for this season was for Cas to start healing and to understand that he is loved, and for the queerbaiting to end one way or another. Those things are kinda happening. The show is toning down on the ridiculously romantic subtext and the sexual tension is pretty much totally replaced with a comfortable affection that honestly could be anything from besties to bros to a long-term couple. OK, the bickering is strongly a romantic trope. But it all just feels way less slimy and underhanded than it used to and if this is all we ever get, I'm kinda OK with that. This show has done so much wrong and been so dishonest but now it feels like they're committing to a particular feel for Castiel's narrative and his place within the Winchester family, and it's solid and healthy and really nice. Obviously I am still dreaming of canon destiel, but it's just a dream. It won't happen. Maybe at this point, even if it feels bitter to let the show get away with that level of bullshit, it really is for the best. Anyway! Enough from me. Enjoy!**

* * *

The needle hurts.

They warn me as soon as I lie down on the recliner in the tattoo parlour, but I'm still shocked by the first few jabs and then the building pain as it goes on. The tattooist glances at my face from time to time, dark eyes sceptical beneath arched pink eyebrows. She's chewing gum and I try to focus on the sweet, cold scent of it instead of wincing and clenching my teeth and fists, but my eyes are stinging and my throat aches from holding back any sound.

I dare to glance down to see how much has been done. Only three and a half symbols have been inked onto my lower ribcage. I flop my head back with a low groan. The tattooist hums in a vaguely sympathetic way.

"Yeah, it's not much fun gettin' it put on. But man, this is gonna look awesome. These symbols are really different from stuff I've seen. You say you made this language up?"

I take a deep breath and try to keep my voice calm and relaxed instead of taut and pained when I reply. "Sort of. You could say that."

"Huh," she says, peering down her pierced nose as she moves onto another symbol, focused on her work. "So what does it say then?"

I panic, confused and distracted by my discomfort. I say the first thing on my mind, the first thing that is always on my mind. "Uh, Dean."

She looks up at me. "Dean? This whole thing just says… Dean?"

Shit. I'm not a good liar when I'm in pain, as I'm discovering quickly. "No, I mean, it's, uh… it's about Dean. A man named Dean."

A knowing look forms upon her elven features. "OK. So is this Dean family or is he special in another way?"

I can feel my face warming. Why did I even feel the need to lie? I could have spoken honestly and said that the tattoo is for protection. I'm too defensive and secretive about the angelic world, especially as it's no longer my world. The tattooist has paused in her work, staring at me expectantly. I frantically try to recall her question, my ribs burning.

"Special. I mean, yes, he's… Dean is special in every way."

She smiles gently at me and then bends her head to her task once more, making me grunt with suppressed pain. "Well, you gotta tell me what it says now."

Damn it. "Uh…"

"Jules, stop with the damn nosiness!" cuts in the man lounging at the cash register. I'd almost forgotten that he was there. He's small and stocky with a beard and a lot of tattoos and he appears to run the shop with Jules, who's tall and skinny with very few visible tattoos except a lot of inked rings and bracelets on her hands. I'm relieved at his interjection until Jules sticks out her tongue at him and looks back at me, undeterred.

"Come on, at least tell me about this Dean guy. Is he cute?"

I blink at her and nod slowly. My understanding of the word 'cute' is unclear but Dean fits all possible definitions. He is good-looking and he also has a number of endearing traits and habits, such as mumbling into my hair whilst asleep or looking disproportionately proud of himself for stealing food from my plate. Jules grins, winks and then goes back to work, finishing off another symbol with a flourish.

"Knew it. So you're not with the chick out in that sweet ride then?"

I glance out the window at where Hannah is sitting motionless in the Impala across the street, staring straight ahead. I grimace through the pain of the needle and manage to choke out a response as Jules pauses again. "No. I'm romantically involved with Dean."

Jules nods and the man at the cash register snorts.

"Big shocker," he mutters. I screw my eyes up through another, longer round of jabbing and when I look down again through unshed tears, another symbol lies starkly black against my reddened skin. I'm breathing heavily and Jules tuts.

"You ain't a natural with this, gotta say. This Dean better be worth it."

"He is," I reply automatically. I think for a moment before adding: "The sweet ride is actually his."

Jules brightens. "Well, damn, he's a keeper! That thing is hot."

I nod seriously. "On warm days it can be. Dean says the air conditioning is 'gentle', but I think a more accurate term is 'ineffective'."

Jules stares at me for a moment before twisting to look at her colleague. They both burst out laughing simultaneously. Jules turns back to me, grinning widely.

"I like you, Jimmy. Alright, let's get on with this…"

I startle at her use of the name I gave her, but then she's resuming her work and I'm too caught up in stabbing pain to dwell on the original inhabitant of my body. The body I'm now permanently marking to cut myself off from my brethren, even more completely than I was cut off previously.

I clench my fists and hiss through my teeth, determined not to cry out or let tears fall until it's over. I need to become accustomed to pain through human senses.

It feels like many hours later when Jules finally proclaims my tattoo complete. I examine the finished warding carefully and then, satisfied with the accuracy of the symbols, I listen carefully to the instructions for care and hygiene. Jules puts a dressing patch over it and is kind enough to wash the pen off of my back from where Hannah carefully drew the design onto me.

"Don't know why you had to do a practice one on yourself anyway," she mutters to herself. "Weird. OK, you're all done, Jimmy! Thanks for coming in."

"Thank you!" I say earnestly, pulling my shirt back on and wincing slightly as I stretch my tender flesh. I paid in advance so I make my way straight back to the car, gingerly and with clenched teeth. Hannah watches me impassively but as I reach the Impala, she suddenly opens her door and climbs gracefully out.

"You look like you're in pain. I should drive."

I pause, feeling reluctant to put Dean's beloved Baby under control of an angel who almost merged into the side of another car twice whilst driving through Fort Collins. But I am in a lot of pain and I feel exhausted. I nod my thanks and drop the keys into her outstretched palm.

"Just drive very carefully," I tell her as I dig some more painkillers out from the bag in the back seat. I swallow them down with some water and start eating another granola bar as I settle in the passenger seat, reclining it a little. Hannah is meticulous in checking her mirrors and over her shoulder as she pulls out of the space and I smile tiredly.

I'm asleep before we're twenty miles out of Denver.

I awaken to Hannah's fingers on my forehead, jolting upright and then crying out hoarsely as my new tattoo burns and flashes with pain. She recoils, eyes huge in the golden afternoon light.

"Castiel," she says a little dubiously. I slump back and nod at her, heart racing. Being awoken by an angel is not pleasant or peaceful. "I'm sorry to wake you. We've just crossed the border into Kansas. I'm not sure where to go from here. Are you feeling well enough to resume driving?"

I twist slowly, wincing, to look behind us. Sure enough, the 'Welcome to Colorado' sign is barely fifteen feet to the rear of the Impala, which has been neatly pulled over to the side of the road. I turn back to Hannah.

"I can drive from here, yes. Thank you, Hannah."

She inclines her head calmly. I get out of the car and stretch as carefully as possible. It's only a superficial sort of pain. I'm already getting used to it. I pull my phone from my pocket and frown regretfully as I see a text from Dean, received over an hour previously.

 _Hey, all OK?_

I hasten to reply, realising that I should be giving Dean enough warning to set everything up anyway. I hope the few hours it will take to reach Lebanon will be enough for him. I feel a strange mixture of excitement at reuniting safely with Dean and terror that our haphazard plan will go wrong.

 _Absolutely fine. We've just entered Kansas. Will you be ready for when we arrive?_

His reply is swift, luckily.

 _U bet. Kevin's in on it 2, told him this morning. Gonna double check the Enochian._

My brow furrows at this news. I don't want Kevin to get hurt. His bitterness about the danger he's in and the life he's missing out on is still vivid in my mind.

 _That's fine, but keep him away from the altercation. Kevin is not a trained fighter._

 _Yeah I know. When u get here, text me then wait a good 15 mins before u come in. Should defntly have Zeke trapped in the warding by then. C u soon!_

I send back a text confirming my understanding as I walk back to the car from where I've wandered. Hannah is sitting like a mannequin in the passenger seat, steady blue gaze directed forward. I slide in behind the steering wheel and pull out, stepping firmly on the gas.

"Everything is looking ready," I announce. I glance across to Hannah but she doesn't respond, still staring ahead. She looks deep in thought. "Hannah?"

She startles and blinks at me. "Castiel. I'm sorry, my thoughts were occupied elsewhere."

"That's alright…" I say slowly. She looks away and I watch the road for a moment until my curiosity overcomes resistance. "What were you thinking about?"

Hannah doesn't reply for so long that I've already sheepishly accepted her silence and resumed thinking about the plan when she next speaks. Her voice is quiet and hesitant, more human than she's sounded before.

"I'm not sure if I should be asking you personal questions. You are my leader."

I wince. "Hannah, I'm not-"

"Yes, you are," she cuts across me sharply. "But you are also… different. Special."

I glance at her in consternation, but she's studying her knees, frowning. "How am I special?"

She gives me a withering look and I smile slightly, nodding. "Alright. Extraordinary things have happened to me, around me. I have been at the centre of world-changing events, but-"

"No. The things that you have seen and done are unimaginable. But I was speaking of you personally. You are unique. You are a miracle."

I shift uncomfortably, hands beginning to sweat on the wheel. "I don't… I don't think that's… Hannah, you barely know me."

She sighs deeply. "I know that you were like this before you turned human. You rebelled against Heaven, you befriended humans, you became a legend. Now you are human, but your soul sings like grace. It is incandescent. You encompass both angel and human. You are something new, and I cannot speak for all angels but I think that you are the way forward. That is why you are my leader."

I open and then close my mouth, stunned and speechless. Another cautious sideways glance shows that Hannah is sitting up straight, eyes shining, passionate and convinced. Before I can attempt to form a response, though, she speaks again, sounding suddenly very unsure.

"I wish to ask you something irrelevant. I apologise if this is impolite. You can refuse to answer."

I swallow. Hannah seemed so detached earlier, but she clearly feels strongly about this. About me. I have no idea how to respond to that. "Go on."

"Alright. The human, Dean. Dean Winchester. You care for him. Is it… do you feel love for him? As humans do?"

I look at her again. She looks confused and frustrated, as though she's trying to work out a flaw in logic. Dean said that she and I were alike; I'm beginning to see how right he was. I can feel an aching, sad fondness growing the more I get to know Hannah.

"Yes," I say gently. "I love Dean. I love Sam and Kevin too. But I love Dean in a more… profound way, and I felt this as an angel too. It's thought that angels can't really love. I don't believe that. We love our Father, do we not? If we can feel that, we can feel other things too."

Hannah huffs, sounding more human than she has previously. "I don't know. I don't know what I can feel. It's been difficult. Falling."

I nod tiredly. "It is difficult. Emotions are very difficult."

She's silent for several seconds before speaking once more, voice very serious. "Perhaps angels follow an emotionless existence because it is easier. Because feeling nothing is more bearable than feeling everything. Perhaps we angels choose to stay focused and detached up in Heaven rather than entering into pain and chaos down here. Perhaps we are right to do so."

I lean my head back against the seat, tired eyes fixed on the road stretching ahead of me. My tattoo throbs and my soul aches and for a moment, all the pain and guilt and confusion I've earned for myself since rebelling seems like countless claws in my skin, dragging me down. But then I think of Dean, the way he lights up a little when I tell him I love him, the way it seems to make more sense to him each time, the way saying it out loud feels like a triumph. I smile.

"Perhaps not," I murmur.


	37. Chapter 37

**Hola! I have updated! Now begins the next eternity before I update again :P I am sorry to have slowed down so much, I'm just busy and not as crazy inspired to write as I was a little while ago. I'll get there, thank you all for your continuing patience.** **Thanks also to the many guest reviewers I've had who I couldn't directly reply to! Your kind words and enthusiasm are invaluable to me.**

 **I guess y'all were gearing up for a big dramatic reunion between Cas and Dean but like, come on, Sam is going to come first in this situation. I'm just trying to keep it real! Cuteness and fluff is coming up, I'll make sure of it.**

 **I believe a new ep has just come out? I'm feeling pretty meh about the show right now but it's going pretty well I guess. I'll catch up with it soon. Hope you guys are all enjoying it! xxx**

* * *

By the time we get to the bunker, I'm nervous enough that even Hannah has picked up on it, despite her limited understanding of body language. She stares at me from the corner of my eye as I pull the Impala over a good fifty feet from the bunker entrance, palms sweaty on the steering wheel and jaw clenching involuntarily.

"Castiel," she says slowly, dubiously. "You seem… tense."

I snort, turning off the engine and yanking out the keys a little more aggressively than necessary. "Do I?"

I glance over to see her nodding seriously. I sigh and shrug. "It's alright, Hannah. It's just that this could be disastrous if it goes wrong. Whoever Ezekiel really is, we don't know what he's capable of."

Hannah's mouth twists and she looks away through the windscreen, eyes troubled. "True. Before the fall, nearly all angels free to walk on Earth were trustworthy and sound beings. Now, all of Heaven is down here. The good and the bad. Many angels of ill repute are now free in human hosts-"

I tune out as she continues her melancholy speech, pulling my phone from my pocket to text Dean.

 _We have arrived. Waiting outside. What do you want us to do?_

Dean's reply is swift.

 _OK wait there, I'm sending Kevin out. Don't want him caught up_

I'm about to send back a confirmation when Hannah says something that instantly catches my attention. I whip my gaze back up to her, alert. "What?"

She pauses, blinking at me. "What is it?"

"What were you saying? Just now, right then."

"I was speaking of the angels who were imprisoned in Heaven and are now free on Earth. In fact, this Ezekiel impostor could well be one."

"Of course," I breathe. "Of course, the prisoners in Heaven. They fell too."

Hannah nods. "Yes. All in Heaven fell. Including known criminals like-"

"Gadreel."

Hannah frowns at me. "Gadreel is one, yes."

My mind is racing. I can't believe that this never occurred to me before. Ezekiel, as he calls himself, so defensive of Gadreel when Kevin referred to him, so affected by his story. I surmised that there must be some sort of link and Dean guessed at a hero worship sort of situation. And there is a link, but it's not hero worship. The link between the angel inhabiting Sam and Gadreel is so obvious now.

The angel inhabiting Sam… is Gadreel.

"It's Gadreel," I say excitedly, sitting up straight. "Ezekiel, he's Gadreel!"

Hannah tilts her head and then nods. "Alright."

Even as I'm fumbling for my phone to text Dean this new information, Hannah touches my arm and I look up to see her gazing towards the bunker entrance. I glance that way to see Kevin emerging, walking briskly towards us through the gathering dusk. I get out of the car and Hannah does too; Kevin is staring at her suspiciously as he draws near.

"Hi," he says doubtfully to her. She inclines her head silently. He eyes her for a moment more before turning to me and actually smiling, stepping forward to clap my arm. "Castiel! Good to have you back, man. That was a pretty dramatic exercise you and Dean pulled yesterday morning."

I smile at him but I can't quite believe that it's only been one night. "It was. I apologise for deceiving you. You understand the situation now?"

He nods solemnly. "Sam's a holy meatsuit."

I grimace but concede. "Well, yes. Oh, Kevin, this is Hannah. She has agreed to help us, to take the place of the angel inside Sam once we eject him."

I gesture at the still, watchful angel on the other side of the Impala and Kevin looks across at her with keen interest.

"It's good to meet you, Hannah," he says, more relaxed now. He hesitates before repeating the greeting in a heavily accented approximation of Enochian and I smile at Hannah in amusement, quickly rearranging my expression when Kevin glances nervously at me. Hannah looks mildly surprised, which is an animated expression for her. Kevin shrugs and stares at his feet. There's a moment of quiet, quickly broken my my exclamation as I dig for my phone again.

"I forgot! I need to tell Dean that Ezekiel is really Gadreel."

Kevin blinks at me in astonishment. "Ezekiel is really Gadreel?"

I nod distractedly as I quickly type out a text notifying Dean. "I think so. It was your conversation with Sam - not Sam, of course, as I'm sure you now realise - that alerted me to the link between 'Ezekiel' and Gadreel. I should have figured it out then. He is Gadreel. Of course, this doesn't change much, but it could be useful."

Dean responds just as swiftly as before. _Shit u might be right. OK I'm bout 2 walk down 2 the basement now with Sam. Come in in 2 mins and go straight there._

Taking a deep breath, I send back an agreement and then shove my phone into my pocket. I check my angel blade and hand Kevin the Impala keys, reminding him to be ready to act as getaway driver if things go wrong. He scowls and opens his mouth, predictably about to argue. I cut across him brusquely.

"We don't have time for heroics, Kevin. There is a plan in place. Please do your part." His shoulders slump and I soften my tone, touching his arm lightly. "It will be easier to get this done knowing that you're safe. I promised that we would protect you. Let me keep that promise."

Kevin nods slowly, looking unhappy but resigned. He takes the keys and slides into the Impala. I turn to Hannah, who is looking tense and alert. "Castiel, it's probably time to go in. You should lead the way."

I nod and set off, casting one last backwards glance at a worried-looking Kevin. Hannah is almost silent at my elbow, her footsteps light and quiet even on the rough gravel of the laneway. The last faded neons of sunset streak the western horizon as we reach the bunker door and I take a steadying breath as I pull out my key and unlock it. We step inside.

It's odd how comforting it is to be back in the bunker, considering what we're about to attempt within the familiar space. My nerves recede somewhat as Hannah and I jog down the steps into what I've begun to think of as my home. They quickly pick up again as we walk briskly towards the room that conceals the dungeon. The door is open. I clench my fists, swallow down my fear and round the corner with Hannah at my side.

The shelves are pushed aside, revealing the dungeon. In the middle of the devil's trap - which is currently lit on fire with the distinctive scent of holy oil filling the air - stands Sam.

Then he turns to look at me, and I can see that it's not Sam.

"Castiel," hisses the angel who is not Ezekiel, eyes furious and shoulders hunched. I stride forward.

"Gadreel," I greet coolly. He flinches, looking shocked.

"Yeah, I didn't tell him we know that part yet."

I spin to see Dean standing off to the side, sleeves rolled up and blood dripping from a slice in his palm. My breath catches with relief at seeing him again and I want to go to him, but now is not the time for reunions. Dean gazes steadily into my eyes, still and focused. He radiates determination. As I stare at him, he gives me the smallest of smiles and I feel my confidence in the situation rise up a notch. I incline my head at him and then turn back to face Gadreel, who is glaring at Hannah.

"You should not be helping these humans, sister," he hisses at her. She blinks impassively.

"No, actually, I 'should not be' taking advice from an angel who is best known in Heaven for complete and total failure," she says with the barest hint of derision. I raise my eyebrows, surprised and impressed. I didn't think that Hannah had that sort of edge to her. Gadreel steps forward, snarling, but holds himself back from touching the edge of the holy fire. He looks livid. Hannah eyes him and then continues. "Besides, Castiel may be human but he was an angel, and I believe he will be again. His mistakes do not cancel out what he has achieved and might still do for our kind. Gadreel, you have been found out in your deception. Whatever you may have been planning is foiled. Use this as an opportunity. Join me in following Castiel and taking revenge upon Metatron, who destroyed Heaven. Whatever he offered you is not worth it. Your name is sullied and has been for too long. Do not shame yourself further by collaborating with the enemy who betrayed us all."

I shift uncomfortably during Hannah's speech and very carefully do not look at Dean. I was hoping that he wouldn't immediately discover the strange position of leadership I've found myself in. It's oddly embarrassing. I focus on Gadreel, who is shaking his head angrily.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, sister. Why should I feel loyalty to Heaven? I barely recall the time before I was a prisoner. All I have known from my fellow angels for far too long is scorn and blame. The fall was not betrayal for me. It was freedom. You name Metatron as your enemy, but though his actions were extreme, he at least wants to create real change and lead our kind to a better life. You speak of following Castiel, but he is weak. He is nothing but a whore for this human, he has debased himself-"

"Hey, how about you shut the fuck up?" Dean says loudly, stepping forward. I feel sick. I'm not ashamed of my relationship with Dean, but hearing Gadreel's disgusted response to it feels like a physical blow. I look down at my feet, take a deep breath, tell myself to focus on the plan. But Gadreel isn't finished.

"Who are you to speak to an angel of the Lord in such a way, Dean Winchester? Just because Castiel forgot the order of the world and submitted himself to you, you think you hold power over me? I am a true angel-"

"Yeah, actually," Dean interrupts sharply. I glance up at him. He's beautiful in the light from the holy fire, fierce-eyed and strong. In that moment, he looks more like an angel than Gadreel does. "I do hold power over you. Check it out."

With that, he raises his bloody hand and slams it into the wall beside him, shooting me an urgent look. I push past Hannah and run to the opposite side of the dungeon, dragging my angel blade across my palm as I go. The sting is barely there as I press it to the very centre of the wall and lift my voice to echo Dean's as he begins chanting in Enochian, my accent smooth and natural alongside his rough pronunciation. Adrenaline pumps through me and lends strength to my words. Slowly, the symbols daubed in holy oil begin to glow, starting from around our hands and spreading across the dungeon walls. Within twenty seconds a complex pattern is shining from floor to ceiling on either side of Gadreel, who has dropped to his knees and is shaking his head, groaning.

Hannah backs out of the room, out of reach of the powerful spell designed to force angels out of their hosts. Across the holy fire and Gadreel's pained form, I meet Dean's eyes as we near the end of the Enochian spell. He nods at me, eyes bright and desperate. As we say the last word in unison, we both pull sharply away from the wall and the glowing holy oil bursts into flame. Gadreel throws his head back and screams as he's ripped from Sam and I gasp at the wave of heat that engulfs the room. I stumble to my hands and knees, squeezing my eyes shut against the onslaught. I feel like I've been split apart at an atomic level and pushed crudely back together again. I feel like the power of the spell was fueled directly by my own energy, leaving me stunned and helpless on the floor. I feel very human.

Then the heat is gone, and there is silence but for the heavy sound of my own breathing. I'm utterly sapped and my skin is numb, except for the continuing background sting and ache of my new tattoo. I push slowly to my feet, trembling. When I open my eyes they fix immediately upon the sprawled body amidst the guttering remains of the circle of holy fire on the floor.

Sam.


	38. Chapter 38

**Hi! Here is another chapter :) I'm so slow with this fic nowadays, but I've been doing a bit more work on it lately so hopefully the next chapter should be up a tad quicker... no promises!**

 **I'm not up to date with the show but I understand things got very gay in 12x19. I will catch up soon but honestly I'm dreading it more than anything. I've become a strong supporter of 'brotherly' (actually super duper married but can probably be read as brotherly and is not overly romantically framed) destiel lately because it's way happier and healthier than romantic angst, torn apart by fate destiel. And since we're never getting proper canon destiel, anything hinting at it is pure queerbaiting. I am so weary of that.**

 **Speaking of romantic framing... anyone watch Grace and Frankie? In seasons 1 and 2 I was very pleased with them as platonic besties but season 3 is so. Romantic. Oh my God. I honestly have no idea where the show is going with this, I'm not even sure what I want any more. I think I ship them but I don't really want to but come on, they're so in love but are they though? Oh my oh my**

* * *

I stumble to Sam's side just a second after Dean and I watch with a tense throat as Dean pats roughly at his brother's cheek, voice cracking as he calls his name.

"Sam. Sammy, come on, man. Sam. Sam!"

I almost collapse with relief when the younger man groans, eyes blinking blearily open. "Dean… what the… what the fuck was… that…"

Dean makes a sound that could almost be a sob and gathers Sam to him in a clumsy hug. "Dude, don't scare me like that! You OK?"

Sam struggles to sit up and then slumps back down again, face white and drawn. "Shit. No, shit, I don't think I am… but what the… Dean, what happened?"

Dean hesitates and I reach out, touching Sam's shoulder. He turns and focuses on me with some difficulty. I clear my throat. "Sam, there's something that we've been keeping from you."

I pause but Dean nods at me, mouth twisting with fear. He doesn't know how to tell Sam this. Neither do I, but I'll try. Sam stares at me in suspicious confusion and I continue uncomfortably. "It was when you were in hospital. You were dying after the trials. Dean was about to lose you. So he found a way to save you. He found an angel to stay inside you and heal you. That's the only reason you've survived and felt relatively normal so far."

There's a ringing silence and then Sam looks up at Dean incredulously. "You did what?!"

Dean glances at me as though asking for more help, but I can only grimace at him. This was his choice, and this conversation is for Sam and Dean to have. I squeeze Dean's shoulder and then scramble inelegantly to my feet, forcing myself to move. "I'll go and get you some painkillers, Sam. You must have a headache."

Sam nods, pressing a hand to his forehead, but his eyes barely meet mine before fixing back onto his brother once more. Dean scowls at me and I shrug at him; this is really not my business and Sam would not appreciate me continuing to intervene on Dean's behalf, which is all I would do if I stayed. I gesture for Hannah to follow me as I leave the dungeon. She obeys with no hesitation, which makes me uneasy. I still don't really want to be her 'leader'.

"That was a dark and powerful spell that you and Dean used," she ventures as we walk slowly up the hall. I nod. "It will have taken a lot of your energy."

It did. I feel drained. I feel ridiculously weak and tired.

"Yes. Dean enlisted Kevin's help this morning, when Sam was out on his morning run and when Dean actually told Kevin what's been happening. Kevin altered a spell he found to override the usual protections of possession. It does take a lot of power to eject an angel from his vessel without the vessel's help, though. I'm just glad it worked."

Hannah murmurs agreement as we enter the bathroom and as I reach out to open the cupboard, I come to a belated awareness that my hand is still bleeding sluggishly. I wince and Hannah silently touches my wrist, barely brushing over the skin there. I watch the gash in my palm heal over and give Hannah an awkward nod of thanks, which she responds to with an equally awkward half-smile. My smile drops as I pull open the cupboard and feel my skin pulling at my tattoo, along with the bandage atop it. I suddenly recall Jules the tattoo artist telling me sternly to take the dressing off by six o'clock. It's now past nine.

"Shit," I mutter, hurriedly pulling my shirt up and peering down at the bandage. Hannah looks at it curiously and I glance at her, wondering if an angel could heal a tattoo without damaging the work at all. But before I can ask, she leans forward and passes a steady hand over my ribs. I feel the insistent pain disappear and I gulp as I peel the covering off of my skin, anxious that the carefully inked warding will be gone along with the injury done to get it there.

The tattoo is delicate and dark against my soothed skin, totally undamaged by the healing. I exhale in a rush, relieved and grateful.

"Thank you, Hannah," I say sincerely and hoarsely. She smiles more fully this time, looking pleased. I discard the bandage and then rummage in the cupboard for painkillers. Stowing them in my pocket, I rinse out the toothbrush cup and fill it with water. I drink the water in three huge gulps, then fill it again for Sam. I'm feeling more and more dazed and lethargic by the second. The angel at my side watches me quietly until we head back out into the hall, when she speaks up again.

"We were speaking of Kevin. He is a prophet?"

"Yes, he-" I stop suddenly with a groan. "I haven't told him! Hannah, please hold this, I need to- thanks-"

Hannah takes the cup of water I thrust at her and I fumble in my pocket for my phone, a headache of my own starting to form behind my eyes. I quickly type out a text to let Kevin know what's happened.

 _Gadreel gone. Sam and Dean talking. Safe to come in._

I'm having trouble walking in a straight line as we re-enter the dungeon. Sam is sitting upright on the floor, with Dean crouched next to him as though ready to catch him if he collapses. Dean looks almost worse than his brother, though, and as bad as I feel. I fall heavily to my knees beside them and offer Sam the water and painkillers in silence. He takes them, peering at me dubiously. "Thanks, Cas, but are you sure you don't need some yourself?"

I shake my head wearily. "Not in much pain, really. Just the effects of the spell. Dean and I may not be able to maintain consciousness for much longer. Sam, has Dean explained to you why Hannah is here?"

Sam looks up at Hannah and then shoots a bitter sideways glance at Dean, who is looking irritable. "No, he didn't get that far. I still haven't gotten a good explanation for why he thought it was OK to manipulate me into accepting possession by a total stranger, who apparently turned out to be a wanted criminal."

"What the hell was I supposed to do?" Dean grumbles, rubbing tiredly at his forehead. Sam takes the painkillers before speaking, not looking at his brother.

"You could have respected my choice, Dean."

Dean bristles, despite looking like he's about to pass out, and I cut across him before he can retort. "Well, I for one am glad he didn't. You're alive, Sam. Dean might not have done what you think is right. He might not have done what is right at all. But he did it for a good reason; he doesn't want to lose you. Nor do I. Please, Sam. You're not well enough yet to be without an angel healing you."

Sam sighs. "Yeah, well, moot point because Gadreel or Ezekiel, or whoever was wearing me, has been blasted away. So what happens now?"

I turn and beckon Hannah. She kneels down next to me, staring calmly at Sam. He frowns at her. "Yeah, I was meaning to ask; who are you?"

She tilts her head and, reaching across to Dean, brushes her fingers across the back of his hand. He jolts back from her but when he lifts the hand she touched, it's covered in dried blood yet the cut from the spell is gone. Healed. Sam watches this and his mouth tightens as realisation dawns. "You're an angel."

She nods serenely and he closes his eyes in apparent disbelief.

"You guys want me to do it again."

"Yeah, we do," comes Kevin's voice from the doorway. He steps into the room, looks at Hannah and then back at Sam. "I know this whole thing sucks, man. It's crazy. But there's no point dying when there's an angel right here who can help you. And Hannah doesn't seem like a psycho, although with our track record she probably is, but hey. Worth a shot."

Sam rolls his eyes, jaw still tense. "Hannah, no offence to you. I'm sure you're, uh, great. But I never wanted this in the first place so I'm sure you can understand why I'm not jumping at the chance to invite another-"

"Sam."

Dean's voice is hoarse and weak but Sam stops immediately before slowly turning to face his brother, almost reluctantly. Dean is pale and hunched but his eyes are desperate and fixed on Sam. My throat constricts to see tears gleaming in the usually stoic green gaze. "Sam, please. Please just do this and get better. I need you with me, man. Please."

I lean across Sam to grip Dean's hand and the younger Winchester glances down at the movement before looking back up at his brother. They stare at each other for a long, drawn out moment before Sam sighs and nods, eyes still angry. "Shit, I hope I don't regret this. But I guess I'm kinda glad I'm alive too. OK, Dean, I'll do this. But don't you ever - and I mean ever ever - take that kind of choice away from me again. You don't get to control me just because you care."

Dean closes his eyes in exhausted relief and squeezes my hand lightly, before opening his eyes and nodding in silent frantic agreement at Sam. I squeeze back. I'm starting to struggle to concentrate on what's happening, but I know that this is good. Sam is going to be OK. The plan worked. We did it. I feel certain that I'll be able to appreciate it all much more after some sleep.

Sam has turned back to look at Hannah. He eyes her for a moment before nodding. "You have my permission."

She inclines her head but stands up smoothly and starts to move away. I struggle to my feet too, confused. "Hannah?"

She looks back. "Yes?"

"Where are you going?"

She frowns. "I need to lie down and put my vessel into an indefinite sleep state for while I'm healing Sam. Otherwise she will regain control of the body and leave and I will be left without a vessel to return to. She misses her husband."

I recoil, guilty over the poor woman trapped inside the body that Hannah has taken. It's much harder to ignore the cruelty of possession now that I truly own my own body. But that is the reality of angels, and we need Hannah. So I nod reluctantly, swaying on my feet a little, feeling ready to collapse. "Alright. We'll follow you."

I can hear Sam and Dean helping one another up behind me, undoubtedly both as unsteady and weak as me. I begin to trudge after Hannah, who appears to be following Kevin. He thankfully leads us to the closest bedroom, which happens to be mine, but I don't care in the slightest. I just need this to be done so that I can sleep.

We file into the room and watch Hannah arrange herself on the bed. She explains that she is putting her vessel's true owner into a catatonic state which will only be broken by an angel re-activating her mind, and that the body will be preserved without sustenance and through any temperature. I nod dully. Sam goes and sits by Hannah on the bed and she speaks to him in an almost professional manner about how they will go about her possession of him. I'm almost drifting off standing up when I feel someone step up close beside me. Turning, I see Dean blinking tiredly at me. He smiles and after a beat, I smile back.

"Hey," he whispers. I sigh and pull him into my arms, pressing my face to his shoulder. He makes a muffled noise and wraps me up in a hug, warm and close. I realise how stressed and worried and scared I've been since the false break up took place, and think fervently that I never ever want to go through a real one.

I hear Sam say something and Dean starts to pull away; I groan and try to tug him back. He chuckles and loops his arm around my hips, half leaning on me even as I lean on him. I look at Sam to see him standing beside the unconscious form of Hannah, or Hannah's vessel. He shrugs, mouth twisting.

"It's done. I don't like it, but at least Hannah isn't hiding from me. I can feel her. Up here." He taps his temple, grimacing. "Anyway, I guess that's that. You guys did some pretty decent acting to pull this off. I'm still pissed as hell, but hey… kudos. You got rid of Gadreel and I'm still on the mend. Job done. Time for us all to rest, yeah?"

I nod blearily and Sam echoes the gesture, looking tense. His gaze moves from me down to the floor and he abruptly strides past us towards the door. Dean lets go of me and quickly moves towards him, clearly trying to intercept him or say goodnight.

Sam shoulders him aside and leaves the room without a backward glance.


	39. Chapter 39

**New chapter time! I have another chapter and more written already so I'll try not to make it much more than a fortnight until my next posting :D Hope you enjoy Sam and Dean fighting... lol no one enjoys that, but I wrote it anyway sozzles. End of the chapter is looking up though!**

 **I have an AO3 account called DestielTheShipOfDreams, which I feel nicely encapsulates my obsession with my OTP. I've started moving stuff over and I'll be posting any new stuff there and not here, with the exception of this fic which will continue to be updated on both sites so you guys don't miss out. The community here rocks - you guys are way better commenters than them, the 'kudos' makes people lazy - but the format and layout of AO3 is soooo much better and I do all my reading there, so it's time to make the move. Hope to see some of you there, you know where to find me if you want to read my upcoming new stuff!**

 **And now for my bitter SPN rant which you can feel free to skip!... Welp. All my fears about destiel came true and now it's the usual boring baity mess of angst, betrayal and mind control. I always get super sick of Cas when they do this, it's such a stale storyline now. Give the guy some agency and strength of character, writers! We've seen enough of Dean pining desperately for him, we get the message. Let Cas be a team player hero rather than a disappointment now. The mixtape was cute but didn't make up for the idiocy of the rest of ep19. Ep20 was awesome but I think we all know how I felt about Ep21... Fire. Buckleming. Please. Those assholes are toxic. I was so on board for Saileen and for a reoccurring disabled character and then they pull that shit? OK I know that episode writers don't make those kinds of big decisions but the way they killed her - an invisible monster vs a deaf woman - was just sick. Nope. And now I'm not at all pumped for the finale and I don't even know if I'll be that upset if Cas dies. At least then I can stop watching the show with no regrets. So yeah, that's where I'm at. On the plus side, new season of Sense8 is super amazing so far (I'm up to ep7) :)**

* * *

There's a lingering silence after Sam makes his exit. Kevin hovers awkwardly.

"OK then," the prophet says, scratching at the back of his neck. "I guess that went well? I mean, Sam will understand once he cools off. In the meantime… yeah, you both look pretty dead. I'll stay up for a bit if Sam needs anything. Go sleep it off."

Dean is still looking crestfallen but there's not much to be done about the rift between him and Sam; certainly not before we get some much-needed rest. I clap Kevin on the shoulder with a nod and then pull Dean out of the room, mind aching with how drained I feel. Dean stumbles behind me and I don't bother to do more than toe off my shoes and shrug out of my overshirt when we reach his room. I step towards the bed and then turn back to see Dean leaning back against the closed door to clumsily unlace his boots. As I watch, he manages to tug them off and then looks up and meets my gaze. I stare at him for a moment. Despite wanting desperately to close my eyes and go to sleep, I never want to look away. He holds my stare as he walks until he's right in front of me.

"I missed you," he says quietly. I blink at him and reply just as softly.

"I missed you too, Dean."

He leans forward and brushes his lips over mine, just once, before taking my hand and pulling me into bed. The mattress feels luxurious as I sink into it. I barely notice Dean prodding me into place so that he's curled around me from behind, one arm wedged under the pillow and the other wrapped around my waist. He sighs against the nape of my neck and I echo him, tired but basking in the warmth and comfort.

And then we sleep.

It's a long, blissful, dreamless sleep. I come into awareness the next morning with Dean breathing slowly and quietly in my ear, an arm flung across my chest and a leg wound around one of mine. I need to urinate, which is what woke me, but it's not urgent enough for me to move yet. I run sleepily over recent events in my mind and come to the conclusion that everything is truly alright. Sam is well. Kevin is safe. The angel in our home is one that I trust and who respects me, rather than a liar who wants me gone. And Dean is here, close and warm, sleeping soundly. We did it! We did it and we're together again. I turn my head and press my mouth to Dean's forehead, smiling lazily.

I feel lethargic and heavy, but not half-dead like I did before sleeping. I'm a little achy but otherwise I can't detect any damage to myself. It seems that the effects of Kevin's spell weren't long-lasting. Really, other than the growing pressure coming from my bladder I feel quite relaxed. I stretch as carefully as possible, trying not to wake Dean. But he's a hunter, and hunters sleep light.

"Huh?" he mumbles, nosing briefly at my jaw before rolling away a little, face screwed up around a suppressed yawn. "Wha…?"

"Nothing," I whisper. "Go back to sleep."

Dean hums in acknowledgment but cracks his eyes open sleepily, peering at me. He smiles. "Cas."

"Hello, Dean."

The smile widens. "Goddamn, it's good to have you back."

He flops on top of me again, slipping his arms around my waist and then rolling backwards once more, dragging me with him, huffing at the weight. I grunt in surprise, ending up clumsily sprawled half over him with my face buried in the pillow. The bladder pressure is spiking with all the movement and I have too much weight on one hipbone; it's not comfortable. But Dean is squeezing me and nuzzling my shoulder playfully and sighing as though he's utterly content, so I give a muffled chuckle and stay put for several seconds before heaving myself away. Dean actually pouts.

"I was comfy."

"I wasn't," I reply mildly, rolling off of the bed and standing up with another stretch. I pull yesterday's plaid shirt on, despite it smelling vaguely unpleasant. It's a chilly morning. "I have to go to the bathroom. I might get a coffee while I'm up. Would you like anything?"

Dean rubs his eyes and hums, which I take to mean that he probably wants a coffee as well. But as I pad towards the door, I hear him getting up too and I turn back expectantly. Dean is trudging after me, eyes still heavy with sleep. "Hang on, wait up, I'm coming. Not to the bathroom, I figure you can do that all by yourself. I wanna check on Sam."

I nod and push the door open. Dean and I part ways silently and easily, but I still feel impatient as I use the toilet and brush my teeth. I want a shower but I want to see how Sam and Hannah are doing more, and as needy as it feels I don't want to be away from Dean for long if I can help it. Not yet.

When I've made the coffees I take them to Sam's room, calling out quietly before nudging open the already ajar door. Sam is sitting messy-haired on his bed in boxers and t shirt, shadows under his eyes but a healthy colour to his skin. He looks young like this. Dean leans against the dresser, arms folded and mouth set, looking decidedly older than usual. The tension in the room is obvious, but I smile politely at Sam as I settle beside Dean and pass him his coffee.

"Good morning, Sam. And Hannah. How are you feeling?"

Sam shrugs easily, but his flinty gaze returns quickly to his brother. "Hannah's fine, she's staying pretty quiet. And I'm… I don't know. Same as when I went to bed, I guess."

Dean sips his coffee as I nod slowly. I open my mouth to speak again but the man beside me shifts and mutters: "Still sulking, then."

Sam's face turns cold and I glare at Dean, annoyed by his lack of patience. "Dean. That's not helpful."

He shoots me an unimpressed look, which I return readily before ignoring him in favour of the younger Winchester. "Sam, I understand your frustration. You were lied to and your privacy was invaded. What Dean did, and what I did in aiding the deception… it was wrong, yes. I apologise. But I know that you understand doing the wrong thing to save your family."

Sam huffs a short laugh, attention on me now. "Yeah, I do, Cas. I also understand that doing that shit sucks. It creates more problems and more pain, and it's selfish. We have to stop this crappy cycle of doing anything to save each other. From what Dean says, I made a choice. And if that choice was to die, so be it. He should have let me go."

Dean is shaking his head beside me. I echo him, feeling lost and pained. There must be some way to make Sam see that what's happened has been for the best, because he's alive. "But you didn't die. You're alive, we're all together. Surely you want that. Surely you didn't want to… I mean…"

Sam must see the stricken look growing in my eyes as I contemplate him possibly wanting to die, because his own expression softens and he drops his head, sighing. "No, of course I want to be alive. I am glad about that."

"Well, then!" Dean huffs from beside me, gesturing angrily. "You want to be alive, you're alive… why is this still a problem?"

"Seriously?" Sam snaps at his brother. I press my lips together, glancing down at my feet. I should stay out of it, this is their business. But Dean is so tense next to me. He hates fighting with Sam, more than anything.

"I just don't get it, man," Dean sighs wearily.

Sam shakes his shaggy head, stubborn. "You can't just say 'hey, things turned out OK this time' and be done with it. What if Gadreel had hurt one of us? What then, Dean? What if your choice got someone in this family killed? Would that have been worth it to save me?"

I bristle defensively, because Sam is essentially asking Dean if he values his brother's life more than mine or Kevin's, which is an unfair and cruel question. Dean looks hurt and cornered, swallowing as he searches for an answer. I should let him handle this. I really should.

"Sam." My voice comes out loud and sharp. Sam stares at Dean for a moment more before slowly meeting my eyes. I narrow my gaze at him. "This conversation isn't going anywhere. You're too angry, and Dean might be in the wrong in some ways but that doesn't make punishing him any less pointless. Now, are you well? Does everything seem to be running smoothly with Hannah?"

Sam scowls at me but after a beat, he nods. I can feel Dean looking at me but I keep my eyes coldly trained on his younger brother, still bolstered by a surge of protectiveness. I don't really care much whether Sam is right, which he probably is. No one hurts Dean while I stand and watch.

"Alright, then," I say, straightening up from the dresser and reaching blindly for Dean's hand. "We should go. I know that you're a compassionate and reasonable man, Sam. Hopefully that will show itself at some point soon."

I start to tug at Dean's hand, turning away from Sam's disbelieving, indignant expression. But Dean resists, lingering. I glance at him to see him staring at Sam with a pinched, unhappy set to his face. He inhales deeply and then slumps a little as he speaks lowly and sincerely:

"I am sorry."

I don't look at Sam to gauge his response to that. I wait for Dean to step after me of his own accord and then I hurry from the room, trailing him behind me. I become aware that we left our coffee mugs behind, still half full, but I immediately reject the idea of returning to collect them. Instead I lead Dean all the way back into our room before I falter and stop, heartbeat thrumming nervously. I speak to the floor, grip loose on Dean's hand. "Sorry. I should stay out of conversations between you and Sam."

Dean hesitates before replying on a tired sigh. "Yeah, you probably should."

I tense up, but Dean sighs again and pulls me around and into his arms, digging his chin into my shoulder. His voice is muffled when he speaks. "Mostly because it's way too easy for me to shut up and let you do the talking. Not like anything constructive comes out of my mouth. But yeah, I don't know if it's a good idea to have you sticking up for me all the time, especially with Sam. Shit, though, it's nice to have you on my side, Cas."

I snake my arms around his waist, feeling warm and indescribably fond of the man in my embrace. "Of course, Dean. I'm heavily biased but I'm willing to argue for your side any time. I'll try to hold back with Sam though."

"Yeah," comes the amused reply, "maybe try that."

There's a short, soft silence before Dean noses lightly behind my ear and I shiver, ticklish. He huffs a laugh. "Your hair needs washing. Actually, you need washing in general. I probably need a shower too though, to be fair…"

I'm pulling back as he speaks and I meet his widening eyes as he trails off, clearly worried about something he's said. "Not that I… I mean, I wasn't saying… you know…"

I frown, hands resting on his waist as I try to decipher his rambling. "No, I don't."

Dean is pink now, rolling his eyes at my denial. "You know, showering together and stuff."

I blink up at him, my interest quickening. "You want to shower together?"

"What?"

I'm confused now. "Isn't that what you said?"

"No, I- well-" Dean looks extremely flustered. I feel my face fall.

"Oh. You don't want to shower together."

"Fuck's sake, Cas!" he huffs. "I do, I mean I'd be fine with that, I just wasn't suggesting it right then. OK?"

I consider that, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "I see."

He's silent for a moment before sighing loudly. "What?"

I peer up at him nervously. "So you definitely don't want to shower together… right now?"

He shuts his eyes in apparent disbelief. "Jesus, Cas, it's too early for your version of communication skills. If you wanna friggin' shower together, say so."

I frown again but reply evenly. "I want to shower together."

Dean opens his eyes very quickly. "Wait, really?"

"Yes."

"Oh." A pleased grin spreads across his face. "Awesome."

I nod and Dean just stands there beaming for several seconds before he hurries into action, grabbing his towel and tugging me towards the door. He's excited and enthusiastic and I trip after him, amused as we march to the bathroom. But once we're in there and he's closed the door behind us, Dean seems to falter. A flush rises on his cheeks when he glances into my eyes.

"Well," he ventures awkwardly, dropping my hand to instead palm at the nape of his neck. "I guess we should… I mean, if we're gonna…"

I realise that he's trying to suggest that we undress. My own skin warms as I consider that to shower, all of our clothes will have to come off. Dean and I haven't quite done that before. Not full nudity. It suddenly seems odd that we've touched each other intimately and brought each other pleasure, but have still never been naked together. I smirk at Dean's sudden shyness, the way he's avoiding my gaze and fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt. I might be human but I wasn't raised in human society, so I have very little anxiety about nudity. Dean's hesitance is sweet but seems silly to me. I let a long pause develop before I respond to him, amused by his flustered demeanour, and my smile shows in my voice.

"You first."


	40. Chapter 40

**Update ahoy! We all knew I wasn't going to be able to resist tattoo!kink so enjoy that if it's your thing... also some Dean appreciation, which I know is definitely the biggest thing for some of you :) sooooo** **S12 finale, huh? I liked it, except for Rowena's crappy death. If Eileen hadn't died I'd say that this was pretty much a catstrophe-free season, but Eileen did die, so there's that. Buckleming need to gtfo already. But yeah, Crowley was ready to go so even if he's not back, I will miss him but I'm at peace with it. As for Cas... Cas will totally be back and I'm hopeful that this will mean cool storylines with all the alternate universe stuff going down. Dean falling to his knees next to Cas's body was uughhhh beautiful pain.**

 **Speaking of pain, I'm in the UK atm and I am shaken up about what's been happening, first in Manchester and then in London. These psychos want to spread hatred, fear and division between 'them' and 'us'. But the only them and us is the terrorists and those they terrorise. Watching all the love and hope and strength that people are showing in response to these attacks is so wonderful, even if it never should have been necessary in the first place. Thoughts are with the families of those killed. RIP xxx**

 **OK, hopefully some relief from the sadness... here's the chapter!**

* * *

There's a slight pause before Dean responds to my playful order. His eyes dart to mine, then away again. His blush deepens.

"Why me?" he mutters. I don't reply and he swallows before slowly pulling his shirt over his head, the muscles in his arms and torso bunching and twisting at the movement. I let my gaze drift over him, appreciative.

I love how Dean looks. He's strong, in every way, but there's softness and sweetness in him too and all of this is reflected in his physicality. He has some strange attitudes towards his own body. He'll exaggeratedly flex his arms and shoulders, cocky and confident, but he tenses up and mumbles protests when I touch or kiss the small gathering of fat curving across his belly. He rolls his eyes when I compliment his freckles, but nothing seems to relax him more than when I trace the patterns formed by them on his back. And he's sensitive in unexpected areas. He seems almost indifferent to having his backside grabbed - unlike me - but he always responds noticeably when I wrap my hands around his angular hips, pushing into the firm touch. There's a lot to learn about Dean's body. I'm a more than willing student.

Dean clears his throat and I realise that I've been idly staring at his bare top half for several seconds. I look up and I'm pleased to see that he's regained some confidence, raising his eyebrows at me with a smug quirk to his lips.

"Enjoying the view, Cas?" he asks airily.

"Very much." My voice is a little husky when I respond and I can see the last of his nerves melting away under the heat of growing desire. Dean is usually like this when it comes to anything sexual: endearingly unsure until I make it clear that I want him, at which point he focuses and turns seductive. I watch as his pupils dilate and his stance eases into something like a swagger.

"Your turn then," he drawls, teasing. I don't waste time, pulling my plaid shirt off and then yanking my t shirt over my head. I toss them towards the laundry and then turn eagerly back to Dean, expecting him to be already moving towards me. Instead, I find him staring down at my ribs in wide-eyed shock, mouth slack and open. I'm puzzled for a nanosecond before I remember. The tattoo.

"Holy shit," Dean whispers. I glance down at it too, hoping that I haven't crossed some odd human boundary. Maybe tattoos are the sort of thing one is supposed to discuss before getting. Maybe Dean doesn't actually like tattoos - since he only has his out of necessity - and is repulsed by mine. A dozen unpleasant and unlikely scenarios flash through my mind as I slowly look back up at Dean. His eyes rake over me and then return to the ink adorning my side. He licks his lips unconsciously, fingers twitching. I open my mouth to explain, feeling as nervous as Dean looked after suggesting we undress, ready to defend my decision as an indispensable safety measure-

Dean moves close and drops to a half-kneeling crouch, and my mouth snaps shut in surprise. He's still staring at the tattoo. He reaches out and cups a hand around my waist, barely brushing his thumb across the script, leaning in to examine it. My stomach jumps at the light sensation, then jumps again as he exhales and his breath warms my skin. Slowly, he raises his gaze to meet mine.

"You got a tattoo. Like, a real one," he states a little obviously, his voice quiet and unreadable. I swallow and nod.

"Yeah," I say after a beat too long, my voice hitching slightly as Dean drags his thumb a little more firmly across my ribs. He observes me and then looks back down at the inked patch of skin.

"It's fully healed. But I'm pretty fucking sure I would have noticed you having this before you left. Hannah did this?"

I wince at the tense undertone to his low voice and the almost forced calmness of the cursing, sure now that he's angry for some reason. I take a deep breath and make my voice even to reply. "She healed it, but she didn't do it. I went to a tattoo parlour. It's warding, so I can't be tracked by angels."

Dean nods slowly, eyes drifting down to my hips and up to my chest and then inexorably back to the tattoo.

"Huh," he says vaguely. I frown down at him, trying not to clench my fists when he lets go of my waist only to run the backs of his fingers softly over the inked warding, lips parted. I didn't think that my ribs were that sensitive until he started paying all this attention to them.

"Dean," I say firmly. He raises his eyes once more and fuck, he really does look amazing from this angle; I'm still not used to the automatic heat that spikes in my belly when I see him like this. I swallow raggedly and try again. "Dean, does it bother you? You seem… bothered."

He grins then, a little feral. "You could say that. Yeah. Cas, have I ever told you that you're really fucking sexy?"

I blink in surprise. "Oh. I don't think you've used those exact words, no…"

Dean's amused expression gentles a little and he nods almost seriously. "Well, you're really fucking sexy. And so are tattoos. So you, plus some ink… yeah, I can cope with this."

His gaze, dark and molten, has dropped back to my ribs before he's finished speaking. I gulp. OK, so Dean is not angry and definitely not repulsed. That's good. That's-

"Oh," I breathe as Dean holds my hips steady and leans forward to press a kiss to the warding, slow and soft. He lingers there, exhales warmth. I tilt my head back, eyes drifting shut. Another kiss follows, firmer this time. His lips part and he mouths hotly at the marked flesh, nails digging into my hips, something worshipful yet greedy in the touch. I squeeze at his shoulders, relaxing even as my breathing speeds up. Dean sucks a pleasant burning ache into my skin before dragging his tongue down to the indent of my hipbone, tugging at the edge of my jeans with his teeth.

"Mmm," he hums there, giving the denim one last nip before pulling back. "Gotta get these off, man."

I huff a laugh. "You're closer."

Dean's eyes twinkle up at me as he considers this. "Touché."

I bite my lip as I watch him unbutton and unzip my jeans, heart beating a little faster. He starts to pull them down but then stops and looks back up at me, oddly apologetic. "I, uh, wasn't planning on sucking you off right now. Sorry. So if that's what you're aiming for-"

I roll my eyes and reach down to pull him to his feet, silencing his stuttering with my lips. When I lean back he's watching me with a small smile, cheeks pink.

"I wasn't aiming for anything," I tell him softly. "And I'm… glad you like the tattoo. By the way."

He smirks and winks before glancing back downwards, tracing the warding with a fingertip. I shiver.

"Yeah, I fucking like it," he mutters. I smile a little smugly. He kisses me once more, slow this time, backing me gently against the counter with a hand on my neck and two fingers curled into one of my belt loops. I offer no resistance, coasting on the feel of Dean's mouth, trailing my hands up and down his back. It's a little while before he seems to remember what he was in the process of doing and I feel him pushing my jeans down my hips again. I help him, dragging my lips over his jaw and mouthing at his throat as I step distractedly out of the unwanted denim.

"Cas…" he sighs, pressing forward against me for an instant and then swaying back. He nudges down and re-captures my mouth a little lazily, fingertips now catching on the waistband of my boxer briefs as he tries half-heartedly to remove those too. I breathe a laugh into his mouth and do it myself, breaking away to quickly divest myself of the underwear and then moving back in. But Dean turns his head and avoids me, breath quickening against my shoulder. I frown.

"What?"

Dean doesn't answer but after a moment I hear him take a deep breath and suddenly shuffle back, putting almost two feet of distance between us. I watch him, dismayed and a little impatient. What is it now? I want to be close to him. Has something upset him?

But Dean doesn't look upset. He's staring at me, just standing and staring. His gaze runs over me, ghosting across my skin. I think vaguely about what he's seeing. I know I have a fairly aesthetically pleasing physical form, and I know that Dean approves wholeheartedly of the new tattoo. I'm semi-erect but that should come as no surprise to him, since it's his attentions that caused it. I wait calmly for him to look his fill and after a short while, his eyes meet mine. He grins a little shyly.

"I'm a lucky guy," he murmurs, warm sincerity in his gaze despite the faint teasing tone of his voice. I smile and, stepping forward, begin undoing his jeans. I hold his stare as I push them down and his cheeks are red by the time he steps out of his boxers, his breathing quick and his posture tense. I ignore this, because it's my turn. I back off and examine him, feeling my whole body take interest as I drink in the sight of him bare before me. He's so fucking beautiful. I reach out and run a finger down his stomach, stopping where the neatly trimmed pubic hair starts. His breath catches and I glance up at him, still smiling.

"I think we should shower," I say softly. Dean nods emphatically and, taking a deep breath, turns and walks to the shower. Like everything else about him, Dean's ass is gorgeous. I trail after him and press leisurely light kisses to his shoulder blades, pleased by his hitched breathing as he turns the taps on and waits for the water to run hot. The edge of the spray hits us where we wait to the side and I'm starting to feel the cold of the tiled room, so the little drops of cool water are unwelcome on my bare skin. I shiver and step close to Dean, looping my arms around his waist, resting my cheek on his shoulder. He makes a little noise in his throat and jumps when I come into full contact with him, my chest pressing loosely against his back, my mostly hard cock rubbing against the swell of his backside. I sigh with pleasure at the sensation and Dean exhales unsteadily.

"Jesus," he mutters. I make a questioning sound but he doesn't respond. The spray is hot now and he turns it on full, but hesitates before twisting in my arms to face me. I stare up at him as he tugs me gently under the shower, closing his eyes. I squint my own eyes against the onslaught of water, not wanting to stop watching him, but it's uncomfortable so I give in quickly.

With my eyes closed and the sound of the shower thrumming away, it's just sensation. The pressure of the water on my head and shoulders, the weight of my hair coating my forehead and flattening to my skull, the blissful heat permeating my skin and scalding my cold toes. But most importantly, Dean. He pulls me into his arms and I muffle a moan against his wet neck as our erections slide together, skin on skin. It's not the first time, not quite. Two nights before I left, Dean pressed up against me in his bed and pulled both of our cocks free of our underwear, clumsy and rushed as he kissed me desperately. The feeling was new and strange and amazing then, as he rutted against me until the pre-ejaculate was enough to ease the way for a hand. Having Dean's hand on both of us at once, his heat and hardness alongside my own, was a feeling as uncomfortable yet addictive as Dean's uneven weight on me, his rough panting in my ear. I came quicker than ever before, with Dean following barely half a minute later.

Now, with warmth seeping into my muscles and the sleek shape of Dean steady against me, the contact feels luxurious and sensual rather than frantic and overwhelming. I taste the water on Dean's skin and swivel my hips slowly, testing. Dean hisses and pushes back, hands splayed on my back and slipping downwards on the curve of my waist, gravity taking hold as he's distracted by pleasure.

I grin, feeling euphoric and suddenly playful, and step back.

"What? No," I hear Dean groan as I push the sodden, clumpy hair out of my face and wipe water from my eyes. I open them to find him rubbing his eyes too, mouth screwed up in a scowl. Water runs in rivulets down his firm torso to where his erection stands up stiffly and I eye it before shaking my head decisively.

"We're here to wash, Dean," I remind him, ignoring that I'm just as conspicuously aroused as him. He opens his eyes and glares at me.

"What?"

I reach out and grab the washcloth from the rack full of shower supplies, wringing it out. "Washing. Getting clean."

Dean blinks and his jaw drops in disbelief.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."


	41. Chapter 41

**I don't remember if JIB8 had happened before I posted last chapter but oh my chuck, Jensen is thirstyyyy and I'm still not over it. But more importantly... Wayward Sisters! I mean, idk what was wrong with Wayward Daughters, the ACTUAL fandom approved name of the show, but whatever. This is gonna be totally awesome! (woo starkid)**

 **Thank you to the few commenters I have left :P I have definitely lost some readers along the way! This fic is way too long now but I keep wanting to write more XD I do have an end in sight now, at least I think I do.** **There is definite fluff and smut in this chapter! You have been warned/promised. I have to make an admission of borderline plagiarism :/ There's a moment in this chapter that was heavily inspired by a beautiful moment in 'Ninety One Whiskey' by Komodobits on AO3, one of my fave fics of all time. My scene came to me as I was writing and upon reading it back I was aware of how similar it was to Komo's scene, but I couldn't take it out because it fit really well. I didn't consciously copy anything and it's totally my own words and my own take on the characters, but yeah, it's turned out to be a definite homage to one of my favourite destiel fic moments ever 3**

 **Just out of casual interest, are you guys more into top!Dean or top!Cas? Switching, yea or nay? I know what my opinion on the matter is and I know how I'll be approaching it in this fic, my mind is made up, but I'd like to know whether I'll be pleasing people or annoying people so I can hand out virtual high fives and apologies in the ANs :P**

* * *

I lather up the washcloth in my hand with the plain bar of soap in the shower rack, placid and methodical under Dean's indignant gaze.

"What the hell, Cas?" he says hoarsely. His gaze sweeps me up and down and he gestures at my body, imploring. "You can't be this much of an asshole. Standing there all naked and wet and telling me we need to wash… come on, man!"

I suppress a laugh. "I need a shower, which means an actual shower with soap and shampoo, Dean. Don't you?"

He folds his arms grumpily. "Need a fucking cold shower now. Don't play stupid, you knew that showering together didn't mean we'd come in here and scrub our backs and politely pass each other towels like football teammates or some shit."

I raise my eyebrows, pausing in my attentions to the washcloth. "Are you saying that you were expecting… shower sex? I've heard you describe shower sex as 'nightmarish' and 'a guaranteed disaster'."

Dean watches me mutinously, arms still folded. "Yeah, well, it's still sex. And it's not like a handjob can go too badly wrong."

I grimace. "I would hope not."

I step forward and press the soapy washcloth to Dean's bicep on the side away from the shower spray, working it in firm, slow circles down his arm. He jerks in surprise, dropping his hands to his sides and peering down at my ministrations. "What are you doing?"

"Washing you," I reply contentedly. I can feel Dean looking at me but I keep my eyes on his skin. As I reach his elbow and gently swipe at the soft inner curve, he gives a little huff and turns his arm outwards for me. I smile, rubbing all the way down his forearm. I move back up to his shoulder and run the folded washcloth along the line of his clavicle, noting the slight shiver in response.

Dean watches me silently as I wipe up and over his shoulder but I escape his scrutiny as I move behind him to wash his back. He stands very still. I feel wonderfully calmed by this, by scrubbing him clean. It feels good to be caring for him, but it's more than that. It feels incredible that he's letting me. Dean is prone to scoffing and rolling his eyes when I express concern for him, so used to putting himself last that he automatically rejects my attempts to look after him. But not now. I apply more soap to the washcloth and rub it in steady circles all the way down to his lower back, resting my other hand on his waist and stroking my thumb against his skin in time with my work. I press a kiss to the nape of his neck and gently pull him around to face me, meaning to wash his other arm and then his chest.

He's crying.

Not fully crying, not sobbing, but I can see that the wetness in his eyes and on his lashes is not just from the shower. He avoids my gaze and bites down on his lip, cheeks flushed, breathing a little fast and unsteady through his nose.

"Dean," I whisper, shocked. I've very rarely seen Dean come anywhere close to crying. I step closer and cup his face with my free hand, ducking my head to catch his eyes. He raises them reluctantly and then immediately shuts them when he meets my gaze, shaking his head a little.

"Sorry," he mutters. I frown.

"What for? What is it?"

He sighs, lips trembling before he presses them tightly together and swallows. I caress his cheekbone, my worry mounting. "Dean, what's wrong?"

His eyes flash open. "Nothing! Nothing's wrong, Cas, you just- I wasn't expecting-"

He struggles for words and then sighs again, sounding defeated. He gathers me up in a hug and I wind my arms around his neck, bewildered as I stare at the shower wall. When he speaks I can barely understand him, muffled as he is by talking into my shoulder.

"I'm just not used to that. You took me by surprise because I'm not used to being treated like… I dunno, just how you were touching me and being all…"

He trails off and I nod slowly in understanding, feeling a pressure in my own throat. Dean isn't used to being treated with this kind of love. He isn't used to being taken care of and he certainly isn't used to being doted on, like he's something precious. But he is.

"I love you," I remind him quietly. His arms tighten around me. "How I treat you is going to reflect that. I hope that's alright."

He gives a muffled laugh that sounds like he's close to tears again, so I'm not surprised that he stays holding me for almost a minute under the hot shower, face buried in my skin. Finally, he takes a deep breath and pulls back, peering at me uncertainly.

"My turn?" he asks, tugging my arm down from around his neck and plucking the washcloth from my grip. I tilt my head.

"I wasn't finished."

He shakes his head. "I'm clean enough. You can wash my hair though?"

"Well, alright."

He grins and lathers up the washcloth. I watch him affectionately as he carefully scrubs at my chest, working a little quicker than I did. He swipes up over my shoulders and down my arms, picking up my hands and diligently cleaning between each finger. Then he returns to my chest. As the washcloth brushes across my nipples, he leans in and kisses my neck, drawing a startled murmur from me. I hear the smack as the washcloth hits the tiled floor and then it's just Dean's hand smoothing downwards over my stomach-

"Shampoo," I remind him hoarsely, yanking back out of the water and out of reach, pushing my hair out of my narrowed, squinting eyes. He narrows his own eyes back at me, lips pursing. But he does turn and grab the shampoo, the basic one that he and I use as opposed to the expensive 'maximum volume and shine' one that Sam buys. Passing it to me, he crosses his arms once more and bows his head in readiness, mumbling under his breath. I smile in amusement and squirt some shampoo into my palm, lathering it in both hands before excitedly stepping up to Dean and beginning to massage his scalp. He hums, shoulders relaxing as I drag my fingers through his short hair, turning it to a mess of foam. It doesn't take long and then I'm guiding him under the shower spray, watching the white fluff wash away, distracted by the sight of the suds sliding down Dean's abdomen, catching in the wet patch of hair at his groin, dissolving into nothing on his strong thighs.

I'm clean enough too, I decide suddenly. Shower sex is probably fine, really. It's certainly worth a try. I squeeze and rub the last of the shampoo from Dean's hair and then slide my hands down to cup his neck, moving in to kiss him and press against him-

But Dean chuckles against my lips and pushes me gently away, holding me in place, voice chiding when he speaks: "No, no, no. I get to do the shampooing now."

His eyes gleam covetously when he looks at my wet, slicked back hair and I sigh resignedly, knowing that I should have expected this. Dean has admitted and repeatedly demonstrated a fixation on my hair. He loves to touch it and pull it and kiss it and bury his nose in it; of course he wants to wash it, too. I slump and bow my head submissively, listening to Dean opening the shampoo and rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. I have to admit that it feels fantastic when he starts to work the foamy substance into my hair, winding his fingers in and tugging softly, massaging my scalp and rubbing behind my ears. It's gotten slightly longer than it ever was when I was an angel, which I haven't noticed until now. I sigh happily and I'm not aware of leaning forward until my forehead hits Dean's shoulder. He huffs a laugh and combs his fingers upwards from my neck, pulling repeatedly at the roots, scratching his nails lightly against the sides of my head. It's oddly soporific.

"OK," he murmurs eventually, removing his hands from my hair and pushing me gently away. "Rinse it out."

I smile and close my eyes as I step back and tip back my head in the water, reveling in the warm pulsing sensation on my sensitised scalp. I reach up with both hands and run my fingers back from my hairline, getting the last of the shampoo out.

"Fuck's sake," I hear Dean say almost exasperatedly. I barely open my eyes before he's upon me, kissing me insistently, backing me into the shower wall. I make an approving noise and then something more like a startled grunt as he reaches down and grabs the backs of my thighs, hefting me up with my knees on either side of him. I dig my fingers into his shoulders and drag in lungfuls of steam as he kisses down my neck, dropping my head back with a thud. The tiles are cool on my back as I press into them, contrasting with the wall of heat that is Dean at my front. He rocks his hips forward and I'm not sure when I got hard again, but it's definitely happened. I can feel that Dean is too. He's slick and hot against me and I arch into the sensation, moaning. I squeeze his waist with my thighs and press my heels into his buttocks, urging him closer.

"Cas," he breathes against my pulse point, mouth open. He thrusts against me, again and again, the pace getting faster. The pleasure is desperate and all-consuming but out of reach somehow, too vague and unfocused. Rubbing and slipping against each other is not enough, I'm realising. I adjust my grip on Dean, wrapping one arm around his neck and shoving the other hand down between us. I fumble a little but then get my fingers curled around Dean's cock, trapping it against mine with the heel of my palm, squeezing lightly. The feeling shudders through me and I chase it, moving my hand up and down experimentally.

"Cas," Dean groans louder, tipping his head back. I watch him through half-lidded eyes, my chest heaving against his. We start to work out a rhythm but it's not very comfortable; I find myself wincing and tensing, shifting to try to make it better, frowning. Dean meets my eyes and bites his lip, stilling against me.

"Use the soap," he murmurs, jerking his head towards the shower rack. I lean sideways, precarious in his grip, and lather my hand up generously. It's far better when I resume my attentions between us.

"Uh- Dean-"

He whimpers into my neck and I cling onto him with both legs and one arm, breath coming in throaty gasps as he thrusts into my hand and presses me into the wall. The tiles are sliding against me from backside to shoulders, up and down in time with the way Dean is moving. I want to be able to do something about what's happening, have some level of control, but instead I stay pliant in Dean's arms and focus on the steadily building pleasure as I stroke myself alongside him. It helps that he's groaning out words in my ear, breath as hot as the water still catching one side of my body.

"Cas," he slurs, nosing at my wet hair, "fuck, Cas… yes…"

I huff out an agreement, rising on a crest of sensation, eyes fluttering closed as I push my head back against the tiles. It's perhaps not my ideal sexual scenario but it still feels fucking amazing. Dean is everywhere, clasped between my legs and echoing in my ears and throbbing hard against my cock, skin on sensitive skin. I have no idea why we always kept clothes on until now. Being naked with Dean feels blissfully right. He moans, fingers digging bruises into the thick flesh of my thighs; it feels good in a way that I'm sure it normally wouldn't.

"Dean-"

He moans again in response to my low cry and bursts out with a garbled string of speech, sounding delirious: "Uh, Cas, Cas, yes, wanna- wanna fuck you so bad- wanna- oh, fuck-!"

I blink but then Dean bites down on my neck as he comes and my thoughts stutter. I squeeze my eyes shut, whimpering at the thick heat coating my aching hand and trickling down my cock. It pushes me into my own climax and I roll my hips desperately through my orgasm, uncaring that Dean almost drops me with all the movement. My voice echoes in the bathroom, an incoherent babble mostly consisting of Dean's name.

Dean gives me about ten seconds of panting, slack-limbed post-orgasmic haze before he drops me with a grunt, grabbing my elbows to stop me from sliding to the floor. I swear in surprise and catch his eye with an annoyed expression, despite still feeling encased in a layer of dreamy contentment.

"Sorry," he rasps, blinking slowly at me. "You're really fuckin' heavy, dude."

I mumble wordlessly and lean into him, pressing a sleepy kiss to his neck. He hums and drapes his arms around me and we stand like that for a minute or so, enjoying the drumming heat of the water on our skin.

Until it starts to turn cool. I stir in Dean's hold, raising my head with a frown as the water begins to lose its heat. Dean grumbles and pulls us both fully under, grabbing the washcloth again and swiping the mess from our stomachs and hands. In the seconds it takes for him to do that, the shower turns lukewarm. Dean shuts it off and we both stand there for a moment, dripping in the sudden silence. Dean sighs and stretches as I push my hair off of my forehead.

"I know it's kinda caveman of me to want food right after sex, but…"

I chuckle. "Well, neither of us had breakfast. So… lunch?"

Dean grins widely at me. "Hell yeah."


	42. Chapter 42

**Sorry, tad delayed! Been moving from the UK back to Australia, always a busy time. Hope you're all well :)**

 **This chapter should answer for myself the question I asked you last chapter... most of us are in agreement I think.**

 **Stand by for a surprise visitor at the end of the chapter!**

* * *

Getting out of the bathroom is a challenge. Dean only brought one towel with us, which he uses to towel my hair with apparent glee. Giving himself a perfunctory wipe-down with the damp material, he pauses and looks around the room, which has no convenient dressing gowns or extra towels in sight.

"Huh. Probably should have thought of this."

After half a minute of shivering discussion, Dean shoves the towel at me and instructs me to go grab his dressing gown from the bedroom. I wrap the material around my hips, smirking a little under Dean's admiring gaze as he leans back against the vanity counter to watch me.

"Hurry up, yeah?" is all he says as I go to leave. "Freezing my ass off here."

I roll my eyes but I do walk briskly down the hall to Dean's room, taking the robe from behind the door and then making my way just as promptly back to the bathroom.

Only to find Kevin with his hand on the doorknob, about to open it.

"Wait!" I cry out, springing forward-

It's too late. The door swings open and I cringe as I hear Dean's startled yelp, followed very quickly by his furious swearing.

"Kevin, shit, close the fucking door, man!"

Kevin yanks the door shut again, eyes round and mouth open. When he turns to look at me, though, he breaks into a wide grin.

"Oh, wow," he says, shaking his head slowly, mirth bubbling in his voice. I scowl at him, crossing my arms and effectively hugging Dean's robe to my bare chest.

"Kevin."

"So not only are you guys cliched enough for shower sex," he cuts across me loudly, "you're not even subtle about it. I mean, naked Dean waiting for you in the bathroom's a pretty telling clue. No mistaking that one-"

"Go back to your room, Kevin," I sigh, stepping past him. I pause, though, not yet opening the door. Kevin is still standing behind me and snickering to himself. I turn and narrow my eyes at him. "Now."

He arranges his face into a solemn, reproachful look. "I'm young and innocent, Castiel. Seeing this kind of depravity could seriously harm my mental wellbeing, I don't know how you can live with yourself knowing-"

"Fuck off already, Kevin," Dean calls out from within the bathroom. I nod emphatically.

"What Dean said," I tell the prophet sternly. He shakes his head mournfully but turns and makes his way down the hall, chortling to himself. I wait for him to turn the corner at the end before I open the bathroom door and slip through, finding Dean standing tensely against the opposite wall with both hands cupped around his genitals. I pass him the robe in silence and he puts it on immediately, belting it securely.

"It was actually nice to see Kevin smiling so much," I venture as he double ties the knot. He gives me a flat, unamused look.

"Yeah, whatever," he grumbles. "Just don't want the little asswipe to use this against me for all of eternity."

"Prophets aren't immortal," I shrug, "and neither are you, so that won't happen."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, great, thanks. Anyway, let's put that whole horrifying scene behind us, OK? Go put something on and I'll grab us some food. I want a slice of pie, like even more than usual."

I trail after him as he exits the bathroom, looking both ways with narrowed eyes before he steps out into the hallway.

"You bought pie?"

He grins over his shoulder at me, heading off towards the kitchen as I halt by the bedroom door. "Sammy bought it for me. 'Cause of the fake break up. He's a good kid."

I smile as I head into our room and pull on boxers and the old Metallica shirt, which has finally been washed. I do feel a little guilty that Sam was made to worry and fret about his brother because of the falsehood that we created, but it's heartwarming that Sam tries to look after Dean when he's in need of it. So much of Dean is given to looking after Sam; I don't think he realises that the love and support go both ways.

But he's right. Sam is good, inherently so. He cares about Dean in a way that I can't fully appreciate and I should try to remember that. I overreacted when I leapt to Dean's defence in Sam's room. Dean doesn't need any defence when it comes to his younger brother. Sam is no threat to him.

Dean ducks in and interrupts my musing, carrying two plates with generous slices of pie. He's already eaten a third of his. It's pumpkin pie, which I haven't tried before. I take my slice and settle cross-legged on the bed, slicing off a neat forkful.

"I's no' Tha'sgivin' for 'nother two weeks," Dean garbles through a mouthful, "bu' it tastes good any ti' o'year."

I nod in agreement as I chew, amused. The pie is delicious, it's true. It's been heated up a little in the microwave, but something about the flavour tastes warm anyway. Dean leans comfortably back against the headboard of the bed, ankles crossed in front of him, eyes closed as he savours his 'lunch'. I think briefly that this is not a healthy meal, but then dismiss the concern. I'll put more effort into dinner. I'm still feeling fairly low on energy from the spell last night. Not to mention shower sex, which is every bit as physically challenging and precarious as Dean has complained in the past.

It was good though. Very good. I drag my fork against my lips, staring vaguely at Dean, who is still engrossed in the pie. It was so satisfying to be skin to skin with him. Maybe we should start sleeping naked. It's not even necessarily a sexual thing. Although as a sexual thing, it definitely works for me. I chew through another mouthful of pie, the pleasant flavour a backdrop to my vivid memories of the shower with Dean. I run through those memories lazily: the slide of bare flesh under hot water and soap, the look in his eyes when I washed him clean, his breath on my throat blending with the steam in the air. Wet fingers caressing me, the way he moved between my thighs, the things he groaned in my ear when he came-

I drop my fork in surprise, the odd squeaking sound in my throat being drowned out by the resulting clatter. Dean jumps, eyes flying open, mouth full of the last of his pie. He makes an indignant questioning noise at me, chewing fast.

"Sorry," I breathe, flushing hotly. "I just- I forgot until now- you-"

He gulps down the pie with some difficulty. "What? What is it?"

I falter. This is probably something I should have just kept quiet about and considered in my own time, but it's a little late now. "Uh. In the shower. You said…"

Dean frowns at me, clearly nonplussed as I trail off. He might not remember that he said he wanted to fuck me. But that is exactly what he said.

Which isn't surprising as a general statement, if he was just referring to sex in any form. Sex with Dean is good - the best thing I can think of, really, except maybe falling asleep curled up around him - and he obviously enjoys it just as much as I do. But we were already having sex at the time and Dean's words, the longing and frustration behind them… it was like he was wishing for something more. Which has an obvious implication; I'm not experienced with the intricacies of human colloquialisms, but even I know that the most literal form of 'fuck' is penetrative sex. The 'home run'. Which Dean and I haven't done yet. So, clearly, it's something he does want to do. Again, this is not particularly surprising; it's crossed my mind too, as something that I want to try.

I just never pictured Dean fucking me, rather than the other way around.

It makes sense, though. Dean seems to have a deep-seated need to be in control during sex with me, although it clearly doesn't come naturally to him. It's a little frustrating. When he's at his most relaxed he lets me take over and it's effortless, but at a certain point he visibly starts to tense up, as though he feels vulnerable or over-exposed. I don't at all mind letting Dean be the one to hold me down, make decisions, tell me what to do. When he does it with confidence it's very attractive and he is, after all, far more experienced than I am. But often he seems to be pushing himself to be in charge, when it's obvious that he gains a lot of pleasure from relinquishing control… if he's feeling secure or desperate enough to allow it. I like being in control too; it's somehow soothing to take command, and Dean is so beautiful when he gives himself over to me. When I consider pushing our sexual relationship to a more intimate level, I automatically imagine myself inside Dean, watching him fall apart. Taking care of him.

But of course that's not what Dean imagines. Letting me in, in the most literal and physical sense, would be a huge challenge for him. Probably too much of a challenge at this point. The fact that I'm almost certain it's what he would gain the most sexual and emotional satisfaction from is irrelevant; he probably wouldn't even entertain it as a possibility. I sigh, accepting that we'll have to explore this on Dean's terms. If he needs to have control, I'll give it to him. I might like it, anyway.

"Cas?" Dean says loudly, waving his fork near my face where I've been blankly staring at his shin. I stir, blushing again. He's raising his eyebrows expectantly, mouth twisted in worry.

"Sorry, it's nothing alarming," I assure him, putting my plate and fork down and rubbing my palms nervously on my knees. "I just, um. I remembered that you said something while you were ejaculating."

Dean slumps back against the headboard, cheeks pinkening but shoulders relaxing. He rolls his eyes. "Well, yeah, Cas, I tend to do that."

"I know. This was just something that caught my attention."

He frowns at me but suddenly, his eyes widen in something like horror. I smile slightly. He's remembered, then.

"Oh, shit, that," he breathes. "Cas, you don't need to- I wasn't tryna make any demands or whatever- I was just-"

"It's OK," I interrupt lightly, still smiling. "I was just going to say that if that's something you want… well, we can do that. I mean, we can try it. Whenever you want to."

That seems to stump him. He blinks at me, mouth open. "Oh."

I nod slowly. Dean blinks again and, just as slowly, nods back. He drops his gaze to the plate in his hands and fiddles a little with it, face growing steadily redder. I wait patiently in silence. After half a minute, he looks back up.

"Thanks," he says huskily. "For, uh… I dunno. Being you."

It's my turn to flush and glance away, embarrassed and pleased. "That's alright."

Dean huffs a soft laugh and I peek at him from beneath my lashes, the corners of my mouth tugging inexorably upwards. We grin stupidly at each other.

There's a sharp knock on the door. "Guys!"

It's Sam. Dean frowns, laying down his plate on the bedside table. "Come in."

The door opens to reveal a scowling Sam. For a moment I'm worried that he's still angry with Dean, but he strides into the room with Kevin in tow and it's clear that he's concerned about something else.

"We have a problem," Sam says flatly. Kevin nods in silent agreement, hunched and defensive with his hands in his pockets. Dean scrambles off of the bed and I do the same, tensed for yet another stumbling block that I won't be able to properly address without my grace. Is it Hannah? Is she alright? Or are we being attacked somehow? Is Gadreel back? Or worse, Metatron-

"What is it?" questions Dean gruffly, urgently. Sam grimaces.

"Something to distract you from your domestic bliss, Squirrel," comes a smooth, familiar voice from the doorway. We all turn as one to see a short, impeccably dressed man step casually through the door into Dean's bedroom. He smirks around at us all, his gaze lingering on me with particular amusement and derision.

Crowley.

* * *

 **O ho! Good ol' Crowley :P btw yeah, I like switching but if I had to choose, bottom!Dean every time. And in AUs I go for pretty much exclusively bottom!Dean unless they're really amazing fics (like 91W). For canon destiel though, I don't think Dean could let himself bottom to start with. So switching is really the only way for me to write them :)**


	43. Chapter 43

**Hi guys! OK, some announcements.**

 **1... I won't be uploading on here any more. The site is too clunky, I keep having glitches trip me up. I'm later than I needed to be getting this to you because of it and I'm worried that the next glitch will prevent me communicating with you, so it's gotta be now. I have fond memories of this site - it's where I discovered fanfic and became a fic writer - and we all owe them our gratitude, but AO3 has massively improved on the system and it's where all the quality fic is nowadays. I'm sorry, guys, I wanted to stick with the little community we've made here but AO3 is where I want to be and FF has become kinda a headache. If you want to keep following this fic, I'm DestielTheShipOfDreams on AO3. I have the fic split up into smaller fics as a series on there: Part One is 'Escalation' and Part Two (that I'm partway through publishing) is 'Complication'. The overall series is called 'Fallen and Falling' (cheesy yes, but we all know I suck at titles).**

 **2... BECAUSE I'm only just publishing Part Two my AO3 readers are waaaayyyy behind you guys. I'm going to speed up my updates on there so hopefully in like a month, the fic will have caught up to where you guys are at. Right now on AO3 Cas has only just asked Dean on that date :P Because the AO3 readers are behind, PLEASE do not put any spoilers in any comments. I would love to see all of you over there and you're welcome to comment and be as smug as you like about knowing what's around the next cliffhanger... but don't actually spill any details.**

 **I am so so sorry if this upsets any of you but I'm not really going anywhere major; if you want to keep up with this story or my writing in general then you know where to find me. I cherish each and every one of you and I'm incredibly grateful for the unprecedented support and love this fic has gotten on here! You're all still my number ones. I'm just kinda over this site :P**

 **Now for the last chapter I'll probably ever publish on FF! I am actually weirdly emotional now, huh. It's a bit of a plot heavy chapter and ends with drrramaaaaaa! Also I seem incapable of writing Crowley without heavy hints of Drowley in there. Because it's canon. They were a thing. Anyway, much love always and enjoooyyyy! xxx**

* * *

"What the hell is he doing in the bunker? In my room?!" Dean asks Sam loudly, turning on him. Sam twists his mouth apologetically.

"He was supposed to wait in the library while I came and got you. You wanna try getting Crowley to follow instructions, Dean?"

"Oh, under the right circumstances, I think that could be quite fun," purrs the demon, eyes twinkling. My hands twitch into fists and then relax again. Crowley is irritating, but mostly just talk. It's pointless to engage with his needling.

"What is this 'problem'?" I ask him coolly. He appraises me.

"Almost didn't recognise you without all the feathers and bluster. I can see you've still got your winning smile and charm, though-"

"Get on with it," snaps Dean. He continues almost instantly, shaking his head. "Actually, no, not here. And not in my damn dressing gown. You guys go wait in the library like this guy was meant to. We'll be there in a minute."

Sam nods and he and Kevin move towards the door, but Crowley is standing still and focused, sharp gaze moving between Dean and me. He huffs a small, cruel laugh. "So it's finally happened then? Cassie wasn't in here for algebra tutoring, I take it?"

Dean flushes and sets his jaw, staring off to the side instead of meeting the demon's eyes. I step protectively between the two, glaring at Crowley. "Go."

Crowley rolls his eyes and slinks off up the hallway; Sam mumbles a 'sorry' and follows Kevin out too. The door closes and I exhale slowly, waiting a beat before turning to Dean. He hasn't moved to start getting dressed and is gazing unseeing at the same spot by the door. My stomach sinks. This is about Crowley knowing.

"Dean?"

He startles and blinks at me. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll- I'll put some clothes on."

He hesitates before shucking off his robe and moving over to his dresser. I feel a flicker of petulance that I don't get to appreciate admiring him naked because things couldn't not go wrong for a single fucking day, but there are more important issues to consider.

"Dean, don't… don't let Crowley anger you. He's… uh, an asshole."

My awkward use of the very Dean-like phrase tugs a smile onto his face as he zips up his jeans. "Truer words, Cas, truer words."

I watch him worriedly. "If you're embarrassed or- or ashamed-"

Dean pauses in straightening the hem of his Henley, alarmed gaze darting up to mine. "What? No! Cas, don't be stupid. I'm not ashamed of you. I just… don't trust Crowley. He could use this against us. And he won't keep his mouth shut either. It's gonna be common knowledge soon enough that we're… you know, whatever we are. Then what? It's a weakness, it makes you vulnerable. Even more vulnerable."

I shrug. "I consider you well worth it."

Dean scoffs as he tosses me my jeans without looking at me, hunting for some socks with an odd intensity. "Yeah, well…"

He clearly isn't planning on actually responding, so I fall silent as I drag the jeans on. I don't bother with putting on a new shirt, simply layering the ratty Metallica one with my red and black plaid. I leave my feet bare and distractedly ruffle my still-damp hair, trying to finger-comb it into neatness. I give up fast. Dean is watching me from by the door when I turn to him, eyes fond and lips upturned.

"What?" I ask self-consciously. He shrugs.

"You just look so different human. I keep seeing you all over again."

I tilt my head questioningly. "Good different?"

He shrugs again, smiling, before turning and opening the door. "Come on, sunshine. Let's go see what our charming guest wants."

I wrinkle my nose but follow him to the library, where Sam is frowning at a pile of books on the table and Crowley is smirking at a tense-looking Kevin. Upon our entrance, the demon turns and focuses on us, spreading his hands.

"Ah, the happy couple. Glad you could spare a few minutes outside the bedroom. Of course, I'd be very interested in a few minutes or more inside the bedroom too-"

"Get on with it, Crowley," Sam interrupts loudly, eyes closed. Crowley rolls his eyes but acquiesces.

"Fine. I came here because a situation is brewing that deserves your attention. It involves a certain Knight of Hell who I believe you are familiar with."

My stomach twists in dread, the emotion echoed in Dean's voice: "Abaddon."

"Bingo," Crowley replies softly. "That psychotic bitch has decided that she wants to rule the world and all its subheadings. Hell is just the beginning for her. She wants Earth, Heaven, Purgatory… you name it, it's prime real estate as far as she's concerned. And killing anyone who gets in her way seems to be the part of the job that she's taken to with the most enthusiasm."

"Damn it," I breathe. As if Metatron isn't enough.

"Precisely," says Crowley lazily. Sam and Dean glance at each other, communicating in that silent way of theirs, a language of micro-expressions. Sam looks back at Crowley.

"What do you want us to do?"

The demon tilts his head, considering. "I want you to help me, Moose. I want us to put Abaddon down, permanently."

I frown. "How?"

Crowley sighs. "Well, it won't be a stroll in the park. I've been looking into options."

Dean crosses his arms, face unhappy. "Your 'options' generally suck ass, Crowley."

"Yes, well, much as I'd love to hear all about your experiences su-"

"What are these options?" I cut in impatiently. I never cared for Crowley's barely-disguised fixation on Dean and I care for it even less now. The demon tears his eyes away from Dean with clear reluctance to sneer at me.

"Before we get into all that, I think a certain issue needs to be addressed. I assume you're working on getting your grace back?"

I blink, taken aback. My voice is smaller when I reply, wary. "Metatron has my grace."

Crowley frowns. "Well, kill the little bastard and retrieve it."

I scowl at him. "If it's so easy to destroy Metatron, please, feel free to do so yourself."

"What, so you're not even going to try?" Crowley says in disbelief. I shift uncomfortably. He looks around the room, predictably landing on Dean.

"What do you have to say about this?" the demon demands. Dean's arms are still crossed, tension in his shoulders and clenched fists. He's staring down at the floor, a blank look in his eyes. I eye him, worried and a little confused. What exactly is upsetting him so much about this conversation? Is it the prospect of going after Metatron?

"Hello? Earth to Dean?"

Dean stirs, but doesn't look up. He mutters: "It's up to Cas."

I shift towards him a little, anxious at his demeanour, but Crowley is talking to me again and I turn to him with a frown.

"... not even bothered by the fact that you're powerless? We had an angel on our side, and now you're useless!"

I wince, but Dean snaps out of whatever was plaguing him and steps forward, uncrossing his arms and pointing at Crowley with a glare. "Hey, Cas is not useless. OK?"

I straighten up a little, love and pride easing the sting of Crowley's words. Sam chimes in too, voice firm. "No, he's not. And we still have an angel on our side. Hannah wants to speak."

"What?" Crowley asks, perplexed. Sam tilts his head back and closes his eyes; when he opens them again, a faint glow of grace flares there before a calm expression settles over his face. He looks at me.

"Hello, Castiel," says Hannah through Sam's voice.

"What?!" repeats Crowley, a little louder. Hannah turns to him with a disapproving look.

"You seem misinformed, demon. Castiel is far from useless, and as Sam stated, these men still have allies from Heaven. Chiefly, me. I am Hannah."

Crowley blinks at her and then turns to Dean and me, almost shouting: "What the bloody hell is going on?"

Dean sighs. "Sam needs healing. Hannah's helping out. Cas found her."

Dean shoots me a grateful look and I smile briefly at him before turning to Hannah. "Hannah, meet Crowley. King of Hell. Crowley, meet Hannah, an angel and a friend."

Crowley eyes the angel wearing Sam's body with a sort of disgusted fascination. "So you're riding the Moose into battle?"

Hannah blinks, clearly confused. She looks at me. I shake my head.

"Hopefully, Hannah will have finished healing Sam and vacated his body before any sort of battle takes place."

The demon snaps his attention back to me, all business once more. "If a battle is to take place against Abaddon, we all need to be operating at full capacity. You can't do that without your grace. So my point still stands. Get it back."

Hannah steps forward unexpectedly, eyes grave. "I agree."

"What?" I say, backing up a step, feeling rather hemmed in. "Hannah-"

"You are the most human angel I have ever met." She pauses. "But you still belong with your grace, and it with you. We of Heaven need you. To defeat Metatron, to defend Heaven and Earth from this Abaddon… and to lead us. To show us the way forward."

I very deliberately don't look at Dean, feeling oddly embarrassed by all of this. Hannah is borderline delusional in her assertion that I am the leader Heaven needs. "Look-"

"You know that you need your grace back, Castiel. I can see your soul. I know how you ache to be yourself once more." Her voice is final. I swallow. I can't really deny that I miss my grace, that I resent the limatations of being human, that I feel displaced and lost. Or at least I would, if not for Dean. Dean is what makes my fall from grace seem more than worth the pain. But getting my grace back wouldn't have to mean losing him, would it? If I could somehow balance both…

But what if Dean doesn't want me as an angel? What if I had it wrong when I was afraid that Dean preferred me with my powers? Maybe it's only as a human that he feels able to act upon his feelings for me.

"Well, then," Crowley drawls. I tear my eyes from Hannah's steady gaze and focus on him. "That's settled. I'll monitor the Abaddon situation. You lot work on restoring Castiel to his dubious former glory. Give me a call when you've done that and we'll talk about my… options."

His gaze flickers to Dean before he vanishes, the movement so quick that I almost don't see it. It makes my stomach curl in fear. What is Crowley planning?

"Well," says Sam weakly, sitting down and rubbing his forehead. "That felt weird as hell."

Kevin is leaning against a bookcase, arms folded, eyes troubled. He's looking at me.

"You're really getting your grace back?" he asks me quietly. I shrug, unsure. I don't want to risk my relationship with Dean, but Crowley and Hannah are right. If I want to really help, I need my grace.

"It seems like the sensible thing to do."

I hear a snort come from behind me and I turn to see Dean glaring harshly at me. "Sensible? Going after Metatron is not sensible."

I frown. "Dean, we were going to go after him anyway. We don't know what he and Gadreel are planning. They could even collude with Abaddon-"

"Yeah, right," sneers Dean, inexplicably furious, fists curled. I'm bewildered by his anger. "Because a couple of angels are really gonna team up with a Knight of Hell."

"Why not?" I snap, instinctively defensive against his aggression. "I've teamed up with Crowley and it looks like it's happening again, so-"

"Yeah, and look how well that turned out!"

"Dean…" Sam interjects, wary. Dean ignores him.

"Besides, I dunno if you keep forgetting, but you're not an angel any more, Cas."

"That's what I'm trying to fix!" I say loudly and sharply. Dean flinches and I swallow, unsure what I've said that's hurt him. There's a pause and when Dean speaks his voice is low and tight, vibrating with bitterness, as cold as his acidic eyes.

"Sorry you feel like you're broken. I didn't realise how fucking unhappy you were. Guess you won't have to stick around and worry about that for much longer, huh?"

I stand with my mouth open but no sound coming out, confused and panicked. Dean glowers at me, fists tight and trembling at his sides. There's some sort of challenge in his eyes, but I don't understand what it is or where the problem truly lies in the first place. I step forward and attempt to respond, several seconds too late, my voice weak and faint.

"Dean... I …"

Dean turns and walks out of the room.


End file.
